The Telling Read online

  Suddenly Michael was doubly sorry for bringing up that particular topic, as the smile and laughter didn’t quite meet his sister’s eyes. Angie laughed at other women’s pregnancies and told horror stories about the kids she dealt with at the hospital where she worked, calling them little monsters, snot nosed brats, and other unflattering but equally disgusting names. But she’d been devastated when she’d lost her own baby. Pregnant at seventeen, she’d dropped out of school, married a kid barely older than herself, and then miscarried. Her new husband waited all of a week before dropping her off at their grandparents’ house and never looking back.

  Once the initial shock wore off she went to work for minimum wage at the local burger joint. It took three years and three bad relationships for her to decide that she wanted something more out of life. Once she’d made the decision to better herself she worked hard, saved up, and with the little help his mom and grandparents could manage, earned a high school diploma and put herself through nursing school at the local community college.

  Her first taste of nursing suited her so well that she went back for more; she was currently enrolled at Avery University and due to graduate at the end of the spring term. And he’d be there for her graduation, proudly cheering her on.

  Angie rambled on about Ruth Ann, her worthless husband, and her adorable son while pointing out the kid would be much better looking if Michael had been the daddy. That was Angie, always sticking up for him even when he didn’t want or need her to. She could berate him all she wanted, but no one else better try while she was around. It reminded him of a flea defending its dog.

  She went on to rail about how Ruth Ann was a fool to leave him and how unpatriotic it was of her to abandon him when he was joining such a noble cause, even though they both knew that he’d been the one to call it quits.

  Tired eyes drooped and he finally gave in to his fatigue, certain that even if his sister did notice, once she was on a roll a little thing like having no coherent audience wasn’t going to stop her. Her thick southern accent buzzed pleasantly in his brain and combined with the soothing rhythm of the truck motor to lull him into a light but welcomed doze.

  Chapter Two

  Michael had dreamed of his homecoming for months, all that he wanted to do and see once back on American soil. A meal at one of Atlanta’s premier restaurants figured largely in those dreams. When he woke and noticed their direction, it was obvious that fine dining wasn’t on the agenda. A medium rare steak at The Riverboat would be nice, especially since he’d be able, at last, to legally order a drink named after a famous Southern hero. When he’d graduated high school he, Angie, and their mother (sans her loser-of-the-moment) had gone there for a private celebration before the ceremony. He could still remember every detail of that memorable evening, just weeks before his departure for boot camp; he’d replayed that memory often while a home-sick recruit far from home.

  But of all the wonderful restaurants Michael remembered, Angie had to take him to one that, though familiar, hadn’t entered his mind at all.

  “The Sausage Shack, Ang?”

  She shrugged her pink-clad shoulders. “As much as I’d love to spend the afternoon with you, I have to get to work. Besides, it’s cheap.” She killed the engine and hopped out of the truck without bothering to wait for him, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the cold.

  He’d fully intended on paying, having racked up a nice little bank account of paychecks that he hadn’t had the opportunity to spend yet, but if she wanted to treat he’d make it up to her. He followed his sister across the parking lot, focusing on her to avoid the creepy-crawly skin tingles from being outdoors. Once he caught up to her he earned a glare for attempting to hold the door. Apparently, her ‘I am woman, hear me roar’ philosophy to ‘outdated chauvinistic gestures’ still lived and breathed.

  “I suppose it would be too much to ask that the menu changed while I was away,” he muttered. They claimed a booth away from the windows and perused grease splattered plastic laminates on the table. Nope, no changes here.

  A harried-looking, middle-aged waitress approached and asked, “What can I get you folks to drink?”

  Like she had to ask? Michael was a tried and true Southern boy who’d been away far too long. His doctor recommended limiting caffeine, but the devil on his shoulder effectively bound and gagged anything wearing white and looking out for his best interests. Without hesitation he replied, “Sweet tea.” Angie nodded agreement.

  As far as he was concerned the glass of amber liquid placed before him was the nectar of the gods. Yeah, maybe Angie hadn’t chosen poorly after all in bringing them here.

  “Good, huh,” his sister commented, grinning, as he raised the glass and nearly drained it before setting it down and gesturing to the waitress for a refill.

  “Some of the guys in my unit thought I was crazy when I’d talk about sweet tea—they’d never even heard of such. Hell, some of them only drink tea hot.” They shared a grimace.

  “One of my roommates does that,” Angie replied. “She never could grasp that a good glass of sweet tea is a thing of beauty.” She sighed, a dreamy expression on her pink-glossed lips. “Grandma’s could probably be used as pancake syrup in a pinch.”

  Yes, there was sweet tea and then there was Grandma’s sweet tea, the epitome of sweet tea. “Ya know what else I missed?” Michael asked. “I missed grits, and biscuits and gravy.”

  “Oh, you poor thing.” Angie fanned her face with one hand, donning her best Southern belle voice. “I do declare! However did you survive?”

  With an equally dramatic sigh, in keeping with his sister’s performance, he replied, “It wasn’t easy, I can tell you that.”

  “Well, they serve breakfast here 24/7 so you no longer have to be deprived. What were they thinking?” The twinkle in her eyes belied the outrage in her voice. “Depriving a poor Southern boy of the basic necessities of life like that.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed with a nod of his head. “Whatever were they thinking?”

  The waitress returned and Michael gave in to his cravings, ordering grits, eggs, bacon, and biscuits and gravy. Then he and Angie sat in companionable silence for a while, Angie sipping and Michael guzzling tea. He’d turned up his third glass before their meals arrived.

  Still tired and hung over, he chewed mechanically, barely tasting anything but his beverage, which he took the time to savor. Maybe he’d sleep a bit on the drive down to Cookesville, caffeine high notwithstanding. He now understood the wisdom of his sister’s restaurant choice; he wouldn’t have been able to appreciate a steak and trimmings in this state.

  “Michael? Mikey?” Angie’s concerned voice broke through his weary haze.

  “Huh?” Michael jerked upright, head falling off the hand he’d been propped on.

  His sister smiled and shook her head. “I guess we need to get you home and let you get some sleep. I take it you got a decent going away party?”

  He mentally revisited the sendoff from the night before—both the official and unofficial ones. He ducked behind a napkin to hide his flushed face. Last night’s goings-on had best be put away for a while. It wasn’t a good idea to be hashing over those details with his brain so fuzzy. Later, he’d pull them out and examine his memories at length; now was neither the time nor the place.

  “Yeah, it was all right,” he replied after a too-long hesitation. He put excessive energy into an accompanying grin. If he appeared happy, maybe she wouldn’t pry.

  She didn’t, appearing more intent on getting back to Cookesville than in tormenting her brother. After summoning the check, she paid the bill and herded him out to the truck, her good-natured fussing once more reminding him of their mother.

  Having missed a good deal of sleep the past few nights and, with his belly comfortably full, Michael slept most of the way to Cookesville, too tired for the caffeine to have much effect.

  “Michael?” Angie’s voice cut through a sleep-induced fog. “Hey, construction held me up and
I need to get to work soon. Is it okay if I drop you by the house and get one of my roomies to drive you to Mom’s?

  “Are you sure they won’t mind?”

  “I’m sure. They all owe me favors.”

  Angie pulled her truck into the driveway of a huge older home, one of many vehicles strewn haphazardly around the tree-shaded yard. Most of the old houses on the street had been divided into apartments or torn down, but this one remained intact. Michael had always loved the aging three-story building, from its rusting tin roof to its constantly damp basement. Unlike the other surviving houses on the street, it hadn’t been updated to siding, and the peeling white paint today would fall in brittle flakes and cover the porches like snow tomorrow.

  When he was younger he’d daydreamed about buying the place and restoring the old dwelling to its former glory, but that was before. Now all he could think of was figuring out what he wanted to do with the rest of his life and get the hell outta town.

  Angie shared the drafty house with an ever-changing roster of college student roommates, she herself taking classes while working at Mercy General over in Hanley as a Licensed Practical Nurse. Hard to believe that in a few short weeks she’d be graduating and sporting a shiny new Registered Nurse pin. She’d also be making enough money to buy the place of her own she’d always wanted.

  Michael retrieved his bags from behind the seat and hurried to catch up as Angie sprinted up the uneven concrete steps and across the front porch. She flung open the squeaky front door, yelling, “Honey, I’m home!” He caught up as she marched into the living room, boot heels clicking a sharp staccato on the scuffed hardwood floor. Storming through the door with her brother in tow, Angie screamed into the emptiness, “House meeting, living room, now!”

  The quiet wooden structure burst into a flurry of activity. It sounded to Michael as though a herd of elephants bounded down the stairs as the deserted-seeming house sprang to life. Bodies converged from everywhere in a blur of colors and sounds, streaming into the living room where Michael and Angie waited just inside the door.

  “Okay, pay attention; there’ll be a test later,” Angie warned, dragging Michael farther into the crowded room. The house was old and the rooms were large, but the gathered assembly still seemed like too many people to fit in one building comfortably for any length of time, let alone one room. The furniture was a hodge-podge of mismatched couches, loveseats, and assorted chairs, all clashing loudly with the violet, cracking plaster walls. Currently, the seating was filled to capacity.

  “Everyone, this is my li’l bro, Michael,” Angie gushed to the room in general, displaying a brilliant smile full of gleaming white teeth.

  A chorus of “Hi, Michael” erupted around the room. A mumbled, “He’s hot,” followed a moment later, then “oof!” as someone elbowed the offender in the ribs.

  Ignoring the responses, Angie continued, “Michael, this is Vickie, Wayne, Drew, Bennie, Charlene, Danny, Jay, Terry, Victor, Emily, Annie, Curtis, and Shasta. Welcome to the Zoo, little brother!”

  Oh my God. Had she really recited that entire list without taking a breath? “Do they all live here?” he stage-whispered.

  Angie turned back to where she’d begun the introductions, pointing off her friends as she had a moment before. “Lives here, doesn’t, does sometimes, might as well, her mom thinks she does, does, does, doesn’t, I’m not sure, doesn’t, here so much she should start paying rent, does, does—but we tell the landlady we’re just dog sitting.”

  It was then that Michael noticed that Shasta was, in fact, not sitting on a couch or chair but under one. This suited the Golden Retriever just fine, intent as she was on wreaking havoc on an acid green tennis ball with her teeth. Michael perused the room, attempting to put faces to names. Angie wasn’t kidding; she would test him later. Some of the assembled he knew personally, some from his sister’s letters, and some from his mom’s. One or two were even in residence during his last visit two years ago. All appeared young, though some were older than he, and all were probably enrolled in the local university or community college.

  On the first couch was Vickie, a poster child for Goth chic; that is, if you overlooked the inch or so of blond roots peeking through her stringy black-dyed hair. She was new to Michael. He wasn’t sure but he thought that he and the heavily freckled Wayne had attended the same grammar school. Drew had once dated his sister, he knew from a disapproving letter from Mom, and he and Bennie had worked together on his grandfather’s farm during the summers hauling hay and doing odd jobs. There was a hippy chick sitting in a ratty, plaid chair, eyes owlishly peering from behind enormous round glasses who he remembered as Charlene, a childhood friend of Angie’s. Perched on the arm of her chair was a young man dressed in black skinny jeans and a black T-shirt with something illegible but probably brooding scrawled across the front, peeking out from behind an artfully arranged fall of dark hair. Wasn’t his name Danny?

  On the other side of the room sat a guy a bit older than the others. Victor, if Michael wasn’t mistaken. Next to him was a grinning pony-tailed blonde with a bright shining face, who he wouldn’t have been a bit surprised to see suddenly launch herself out of her seat to scream, “Go team!” Emily or Annie? Curtis he remembered from high school, and the other girl on the couch, either Emily or Annie, had beautiful, light brown skin and rows of tightly braided hair—she probably caught hell from the local rednecks. So Curtis must be the jock-looking guy currently talking mushy baby talk to Shasta while leaning over to rub the happy dog’s belly. She whipped her plume of a tail back and forth but didn’t surrender her grip on the saliva-soaked ball.

  Under a bay window that wreathed its occupants in bright sunlight, a blue loveseat caught his eye. Michael dismissed the blond sitting there, whose name he thought was Terry, as being blessed with good looks and cursed to be fully aware of it. He recalled his sister making references to an ‘arrogant, self-righteous, egotistical asshole’ in her letters. But the man also had a sweet and caring side, she’d said, or the other housemates wouldn’t tolerate him. No matter what other people thought, Michael preferred to make up his own mind, but the looks Terry cast his way gave him the impression that he’d recently been added to the Sausage Shack’s menu, and was about to be ordered for the novelty. While he liked to be admired as much as the next person, those assessing green eyes were starting to creep him out.

  From the chill of ice to the warmth of the sun, Michael slid his gaze away from the model- handsome blond to the dark-haired, dark-eyed man sitting next to him. A startling contrast to Terry’s assured good looks, this man wasn’t as pretty but was more conventionally handsome. Also unlike Terry, he seemed oblivious to the effect his appearance had on others, or in particular, on Michael.

  His nose was long and straight, cheekbones high and prominent. A thick mat of glossy black hair hugged his scalp, wavy enough to imagine curls at a longer length. A style of moustache and beard that Angie referred to as ‘muzzle hair’ surrounded generous lips. Long legs stretched out in front of the loveseat and, though not as naturally stocky as Michael, the guy appeared sturdily built, with wide shoulders and a narrow waist. Honey-colored skin, several shades darker than Michael’s own, along with dark eyes and hair, spoke strongly of Hispanic ancestors. His only imperfection seemed to be his borderline too-large ears. Rather than detract from his appearance, however, they added interest. Hadn’t Michael once heard some vague high school locker room reference to men with big ears?

  While most of Angie’s friends regarded him with curious, indifferent, or even lust-filled eyes, this man’s thoughts were neutral and undecipherable, except when an easy grin broke free. Twisty sensations squirmed to life deep in Michael’s belly, the beginnings of an erection threatening. His eyes locked with the handsome man’s, chest tightening against his next breath. He stood frozen in place, unable to avert his eyes. Blood rushed to his face. The scrape of a chair against the floor broke the spell, and he tore his gaze away to scan the room for witnesses. What the
hell just happened? Had anyone seen?

  Almost against his will his eyes returned to their favored target. The stranger continued to watch him, bright teeth flashing once against that dark skin. Just for Michael. That smile fanned the earlier spark into full flame. Michael shifted his weight to hide the tenting in his blue jeans. The wattage of that brilliant smile increased.

  The man couldn’t possibly have read Michael’s mind, could he? Would he say something, right here in front of everyone? A tendril of fear crept up Michael’s spine, even as a bolt of pure lust shot straight to his groin.

  A tacky wall hanging provided a temporary distraction, but his mind soon wandered back to where it had been, proudly proclaiming to Michael’s body, “Lookee here what we found!” What was his name? Michael ran through the list in his mind trying to find one he hadn’t yet matched to a person. Angie saved him the effort my hollering, “Hey, Jay, move over and let us sit!”

  “Anything for you, Your Highness,” Michael heard, watching those chocolate-brown eyes roll heavenward. Damn, what a voice—deep, with a touch of a Texas twang.

  “You gotta watch out for this one.” Angie pushed her way between Jay and the blond sitting next to him. “We usually keep him locked up as a public service.”

  Oh fuck. Jay, as in “Jay from Brownsville,” a frequent star of Angie’s, and Mom’s, letters. Oh, dear God, I’m lusting after my sister’s boyfriend.

  Jay’s hypnotic gaze swept over him again, and Michael couldn’t have moved if someone yelled, “Grenade!” Tingling feelings slithered down into his belly once more, but he was too tired to deal with this bizarre attraction at the moment, especially since his body appeared unwilling to acknowledge Angie’s prior claim.

  With a lazy smile, Jay from Brownsville drawled, “If you’re used to putting up with her then I think you can take care of yourself just fine. I’ll bet growing up with Angie for a sister made basic training look like a walk in the park.” Those eyes finally released their magnetic hold as Jay yelled, “Ow!” and turned to defend himself before Angie unleashed another punch to his ribs.