Lifers

  Waking up with her in my arms every morning was officially the best part of my day. That and falling asleep with her after we’d made love. Even though I didn’t think it was possible, I fell for her a little more deeply every day. I loved everything about her: the way she’d scrunch up her nose before she sneezed; the way she couldn’t sit on the sofa without lying all over it so I was shoved up into the corner; the way she danced to the radio when she was cooking.

  She was a God-awful cook, too, but for some reason she seemed to think she was like a freakin’ chef or something. I should have been warned from that very first meal she made me when I just about melted my tongue trying her chili somethin’ or other. On the days she wasn’t working, she insisted on cooking ‘for the menfolk’ as she put it. I know Dad felt the same fear of her being in the kitchen as I did, because he’d try to insist on bringing home pizza those times so she could ‘have a night off’. Sometimes it worked.

  I found I enjoyed messing with food. After years of eating overcooked gloop, tasting new things and trying out recipes was a little slice of freedom. I wasn’t bad at it either—certainly better than Torrey, although she wouldn’t admit it. Dad joked that I could probably get a job as a short order cook. I knew he wasn’t really serious, but it felt like I had other options to earn money and that was a big thing for me.

  Prison institutionalizes you. You’re told when to wake up, when to go to sleep, when to eat, when to wash, and when to shit. Every second of every day is worked out for you. The only decision you get to make is whether to eat with a spoon or your fingers. Seriously.

  Officer Carson said that a lot of guys didn’t make it on the outside because freedom actually scares them—too many big choices to make every day; too many chances to fuck it up by picking the wrong one. Yeah, I knew what that felt like. I’d been so fucking scared when I’d first gotten released. Everything seemed like a huge, impossible challenge. Even now, meeting a stranger for the first time could have my anxiety levels shooting off of the chart, but it was getting better. Sometimes I even felt normal.

  Dad and Torrey got along really well, and I was thankful for that. It had taken some adjustment all around having her living with us, but it was good. She called him ‘Paul’, and he called her ‘Missy D’ or ‘Miss Take’ which made her laugh. I think he would have been pretty happy for us to make it official and to have her as a daughter-in-law. I was working on that, but no way I was going to ask her to marry me while I was still on parole. That shit was just wrong.

  I talked to Mikey about it. Several times a month I’d stop by the cemetery on my way home from work. I’d tell him about my day, or about some crazy thing that Torrey had done, or about how good she made me feel. I don’t know why, but I felt like he was there, and that he could hear me.

  It bothered me that Torrey and her momma barely spoke, and that I was the reason. She said it wasn’t anything to do with me, but I called bullshit on that. I tried to talk to her about it but she said she’d speak to her momma when the Rev was ready to accept me as part of her daughter’s life. I couldn’t really argue it, so I had to trust that things would get worked out between them somehow.

  It was real slow, but gradually I started feeling more comfortable about going out and meeting people. Not everyone in this one-horse town knew or cared who I was. Or who I’d been.

  Torrey had been nudging me to get out more. The choices were pretty limited as I was still uncomfortable going into town, and had a finite catchment area and a curfew, but that didn’t stop her prodding and poking at me to try stuff. Her latest plan was to double-date with Bev and her new guy Pete: a picnic at the beach. I wasn’t sure about it. Bev was okay; I genuinely liked her. And Torrey said that Bev had told her guy everything about me, and she said he was nice about it. He had some high-powered job in a bank in Corpus. Just what I needed to make me feel like a total loser.

  “It’s just a picnic, babe!” Torrey said. “Two hot girls in bikinis, and food—what’s not to like? Look, just try it. If you feel uncomfortable we can leave at any time. But I promise Pete’s a really nice guy.”

  We were in bed at the time. She’d worked out that I couldn’t refuse her anything when she was naked. She was sneaky like that. I don’t think she knew that I was wise to her game. Didn’t change a freakin’ thing though, she had me by the balls and we both knew it.

  “Fine! We’ll go to the beach. But we’ll take separate cars, just in case. Deal?”

  She smiled and kissed my chin, happy she’d got her way.

  I was feeling anxious on Sunday morning, but trying not to show it. Torrey knew me too well and sent me out to the garage to throw some weights around.

  I was pretty okay with Bev, but this guy knew about me and we’d be spending several hours together. It threw me right back to how I’d been when I first got released. I didn’t trust people easily and even though Torrey said he was cool, I knew she always gave people the benefit of the doubt, like she had with me.

  Dad had gone to church as usual. I don’t know if he talked to Torrey’s momma when he was there. He didn’t say and neither of us asked. I had the feeling maybe he did because sometimes when he came back, he looked like he wanted to say something. He hadn’t so far; maybe he was building up to it.

  After an hour, Torrey came and found me in the garage doing sit ups.

  “Mmm! All hot and sweaty. I like!”

  I sat up and ran a hand along the inside of her thigh. “You want to get all hot and sweaty with me, sweetheart?”

  She laughed and tried to swat my hand away. “Your sexy talk isn’t going to work, Jordan Kane. You’re so not getting out of this beach date.”

  I moved my hand higher, until it was under her pajama shorts and heading toward nirvana. I wasn’t the only one with a weak spot.

  She moaned and bit her lip. And yep, she was wet and I was hard.

  “Jordan!” she whined. “We have to get going!”

  “You sure?” I said, slipping a finger inside her.

  “Oh, God! Fuck it! Upstairs now!”

  I would have taken her there and then but as a concession to Dad, we kept fucking around the house to a minimum.

  She charged out of the garage, and I ran after her.

  Two, maybe three minutes later, we were both sweaty and I had a smile on my face the size of Texas.

  “You’re so bad!” she gasped, kissing my chest. “My delicious bad boy. Now go throw your cute lil’ ass in the shower, and I’ll think about seducing you behind the dunes later.”

  We were going to be late. I didn’t have it in me to care.

  We met up with Bev and Pete right on the boundary of my 10 mile limit, just outside Matagorda Bay. Bev knew some secret spot, she said, and nobody else ever went there. I hoped she was right. Mikey and I had hiked all around here when we were kids so I’m not sure how ‘secret’ any part of it could be. The last thing I needed was to run into someone I knew from before.

  “Hey, hon!” Bev called to Torrey as we climbed out of my truck. “Hey, Jordan!”

  I waved, and Torrey ran up to hug Bev. She was leaning against a brand new Mercedes, and a guy with glasses had his arms around her.

  I tensed when he gave Torrey a hug and she kissed him on the cheek as if they were best buds. I couldn’t help being a possessive shit, even though I knew it meant I was acting like a prick.

  I don’t know what he saw on my face, but the guy looked nervous and pushed his glasses up his nose, dropping his arms from Torrey as if she’d burned him.

  Torrey didn’t seem to notice, or if she did, she ignored it.

  “Jordan, come say hi. This is Pete—Bev’s boyfriend.”

  We shook hands, rather reluctantly on my part.

  “Hey, man,” Pete said, with an open smile. “Good to meet you.”

  I nodded but didn’t speak, wincing internally when I saw the angry glint in Torrey’s eye. She’d definitely noticed my dumbass behavior now. I was a fucking idiot, acting like I just fell off the t
urnip truck. Officially. Maybe they gave out certificates.

  I shoved my hands in my pockets and stared at the ground.

  “So,” said Bev, after an uncomfortable silence, “we standing here growing old, or what? Jordan, we’ll need to go in your truck.”

  I shot a look at Torrey, and she shrugged unconvincingly. I’d said I’d only come if we drove separately in case I felt the need to bail. Yeah, right.

  “There’ll be some off-roading across the dunes,” Bev continued, oblivious of the stare down Torrey and I were currently having, “and I don’t think the Benz is up to that.”

  Pete rolled his eyes and grinned at her. “It’s a piece of precision engineering, not a darn beach buggy!”

  He was right about that: it was a damn nice set of wheels. I couldn’t help drooling over the sleek metal and aerodynamic design. I’d never so much as seen one of these cars up close, let alone driven one. The guy must be seriously loaded. The kicker was he only looked a few years older than me.

  Maybe if I’d done a degree instead of time in the State pen, I’d be driving a fancy car like that and not my dead brother’s 17-year-old truck.

  I may not have seen one of these cars before, but I’d sure read about them.

  “You notice a difference with it being 200 pounds lighter than the steel version?”

  The women stared, but Pete looked pleased.

  “You bet!” he said, enthusiastically. “This is the six liter version with a seven speed automatic transmission. Flies like an eagle.”

  I nodded. “That sounds about right. You got the semi-active adjustable dampin’, or did you go for the ABC suspension system?”

  Pete started to answer, but Torrey interrupted.

  “Oh my God! They’re speaking in tongues. Bev, you’re in the back with me, hon.”

  Pete shook his head sadly and smiled. “Bev doesn’t appreciate beauty when she sees it.”

  “I appreciate you plenty, babe,” she shot back.

  Pete winked at her but didn’t disagree.

  Torrey was right—he was a nice guy. I pulled my head out of my ass and tried to act normal, whatever the fuck that was.

  We transferred all their shit from his trunk to the bed of my truck, then he climbed up front with me and I started to relax as we talked cars and engines. It almost made me forget what I was.

  When we got to Bev’s secret spot, I recognized it at once. I’d been there a bunch of times with Mikey and some of the other guys we used to hang with. I seemed to remember it was a favorite place to go talk shit, smoke weed, whatever. Maybe that’s why the memories were so hazy. Whatever—it was a long way from nowhere, so I had hopes of us being left alone.

  We started unloading the food. Each of the girls had packed enough to feed a platoon. I didn’t think we’d be running out of supplies anytime soon.

  “Jeez!” Bev said with a grunt, as she went to lift one of the coolers. “What did you put in here, hon?”

  “Just a couple of cases of beer,” Pete chuckled.

  I froze, and Torrey threw me an apologetic look.

  Bev looked horrified. “Pete! You dumbass!” she hissed. “You can’t bring alcohol!”

  I could see that he got it immediately, his expression contrite.

  “Aw fuck, man! I completely forgot. My bad. I’ll leave it here.”

  Bev slapped his arm. “And what’s he supposed to say if someone comes along and he’s caught with beer in his truck? I can’t believe you’ve been so stupid, Pete!”

  I felt really bad for the guy, but it was fucking humiliating having them talk about me like that.

  “I didn’t think,” Pete started to babble, his gaze flipping between me and Bev, who looked mad enough to tear him a new one. “Shit, man, I’m so sorry…”

  I waved away his apology. “You guys should drink it. There’s no law says you cain’t. I think we’ll be okay a ways out here.”

  Bev was shooting daggers at Pete, and I could see he was gutted. Torrey rubbed my back gently.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said, staring anywhere but at her.

  She looked skeptical but didn’t press me further. What was there to say?

  We carried the rest of the food to the shore in silence. I hated that my baggage was ruining everyone else’s day. Still, I had a lifetime to get used to it. What a freakin’ thought.

  Torrey spread out a couple of blankets and sat down, patting a space beside her.

  She smiled up at me. “And that t-shirt’s coming off. I need something other than the ocean to look at.”

  “Hell, yeah!” laughed Bev. “I second that!”

  “Hey!” Pete yelped. “You’re supposed to be wanting to look at my hot body!”

  Bev laughed. “I love you loads, Pete, but you sit in an office all day. Jordan is ripped!”

  “Okay, feelin’ kind of self-conscious now,” I laughed uneasily, sitting down next to Torrey on the blanket.

  Torrey solved the problem by tearing my t-shirt over my head.

  Pete’s face fell. “I think I’ll leave my shirt on after all.”

  “Don’t be such a baby,” laughed Bev. “I need a view in stereo!”

  “Hey, Jordan,” moaned Pete, pretending to be hurt. “When did women get to be such pervs? I feel like such a piece of meat—completely objectified.”

  “Beats me, man. I just do what Torrey tells me.”

  They all laughed and Bev looked triumphant. “See! It would be so much easier if you did what I said without arguing all the time.”

  “You’re setting a dangerous precedent,” Pete muttered to me out of the corner of his mouth.

  “Waal, Pete, there’s two theories to arguin’ with a woman. Neither one works.”

  He laughed, while I just shrugged and smiled. I was whipped and I didn’t care who knew it.

  Torrey started stripping down to her bikini, which certainly caught my attention. I kept a discreet eye on Pete, too, but he didn’t even look her way. I was pleased about that. He seemed like a nice guy and I didn’t want to have an issue with him leching over my woman.

  When Bev finally persuaded Pete to take his shirt off, he wasn’t entirely scrawny. But like she said, he worked in an office all day earning a shit load of money; I did manual labor and crushed cars. I could carry on until I was 60 and watch my body give out. He’d be sitting in a five bedroom house with a pool, and a private pension to pay for lessons to improve his golf swing.

  I knew a lot of women would have picked Pete. They might want to sleep with me, but he’d be the one they married. The thought was depressing.

  “By the way,” said Pete, after we’d been sitting talking while the girls sipped on sodas, “what’s that tat on your shoulder blade, man? It looks like it’s the same as the design on your truck. What’s it mean?”

  Torrey sighed, throwing a despairing look at Bev.

  “I guess you could say it’s a memorial to my brother,” I said, quietly.

  Pete looked sick. “Holy hell, I’m sorry, Jordan. I can’t seem to keep from making an ass of myself.”

  Bev snorted and folded her arms across her chest.

  “It’s okay,” I said, sighing. “I know this is weird for you—for everyone. I really appreciate you guys doin’ this. Just so you know.”

  Torrey held my hand, and Bev looked like she might cry.

  This day was turning out great.

  “Let’s go for a swim,” said Torrey.

  I nodded and let her pull me up.

  “He doesn’t mean anything by it,” she said, as we waded out into the sun-warmed water.

  “I know, sweetheart. I’m not blamin’ him or anyone other than myself. I’ve got to get used to this, right?”

  She leaned her head against my shoulder and slid one arm around my waist.

  “I just wanted this to be a nice, ordinary day, you know? It’s hard not being able to do stuff like normal couples do.”

  I tensed up immediately. “Too hard?”

&
nbsp; She gave my waist a squeeze. “No, it’s not too hard, I don’t mean that. But I just wish it were easier.”

  “Don’t give up on me, Torrey,” I said, not too proud to beg. “I’ve only got six-and-a-half weeks left. “God, don’t leave me, sweetheart. Not now.”

  She twisted in my arms until she was facing me. “I won’t leave you,” she said.

  Her beautiful blue eyes met mine and I could see the truth in their depths.

  I believed her.

  She kissed me softly, then rested her head above my heart, and we stood there for several minutes.

  “Come on,” she said, turning playful. “Let’s swim.”

  We stayed in the water for half an hour or so, horsing around, making out a little, swimming some. Seeing her in that cute bikini did things to me.

  “That is a mighty small piece of material you’re callin’ a bikini,” I said.

  She grinned and threw me a wink.

  “I don’t usually wear a swimsuit.”

  “What?”

  “I normally just go skinny dipping, but since Bev and Pete are here…”

  I groaned. “We are definitely comin’ back here by ourselves. You, me, a blanket and nothin’ else.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “Nope.”

  “Not even condoms?”

  She laughed at my expression and left me standing in the water while she swam back to the beach. I needed a minute.

  By the time we both joined the others, Bev seemed to have forgiven Pete.

  “Let’s eat!” said Bev, as we sat down next to them. “I’m starving!”

  The girls started laying out the chow, and I reached into the cooler and passed a beer to Pete. “Have one for me, man.”

  He grinned. “You got it!”

  I was hungry by then, so I was pretty quiet while we ate. The girls talked about work, swapping stories of awkward customers and their bad-tempered manager, Gus.

  Pete asked me if I was into football. Turned out Pete was a Dallas Cowboys fan, but I was solid with the Houston Texans. We argued about that for a while, but soon we were deep into who could bench press what, and who’d signed, and who we thought should be traded—things that bored the girls. Torrey had made it pretty damn clear to me and Dad that she wasn’t interested in football. She even insisted that the TV stayed off during meals, making no never mind as to whether it was a big game or not. Dad was somewhat surprised about that but too chicken to argue. Yeah, that was pretty funny, considering it was his house and all.