Yesterday's Tomorrows Read online

  I sighed as I realized I had spent more time talking to her than eating. I didn’t remember the last time that happened, since conversation with a woman was more a necessity than a pleasure when your motivation was never in getting to know her further except how tight her pussy was or how fast she could make me come.

  I was anxious to get back to the office to put some distance between us. I needed back on neutral ground, where I knew what my role was and could remember what hers was, because here the line was increasingly blurred.

  After the waitress brought the bill, Maddy excused herself to use the restroom while I took the bill to the cashier and waited for her. Maddy's features looked pinched as she tried to navigate her way through a group that had gathered near the takeout counter. To me, they seemed like they were simply a group of friends that were enthusiastically greeting each other. But based on the look on Maddy’s face it appeared it was more frightening. She flinched when someone shouted and ducked when a man near her flung out a hand to slap a buddy on the back. It was more than frustration; she looked scared.

  I headed in her direction to help.

  I jostled a few shoulders as I pushed my way to her and managed to clasp her hand. She started to jerk away until she saw it was me. A small thrill rattled my brain knowing it was me that caused her alarmed look to relax into a trusting smile. I had just put my arm around her shoulders so I could shelter her the rest of the way when one of the guys on her other side turned too fast and bumped right into a waiter carrying a tray of steaming bowls. Years of military training kicked in, and I instinctively tucked her into me and turned my back to shield her while I held up an arm so the tray didn't hit her. I flinched as hot soup rained down everywhere.

  Everyone stood stunned for a few seconds in the aftermath. Pandemonium released and everyone scurried around trying to help those who had soup spilled on them. Someone offered me several dry napkins which I automatically accepted.

  At my side, Maddy was frantically pulling at my arm, causing me to realize exactly where my reach had landed when I pulled her against me. My hand held a soft mound of flesh. Time seemed to slow as I felt the laciness of her bra and her nipple rub against my hand as her ass ground against the front of my legs as she wiggled.

  Shit. Friends don't get hard at another friend's touch.

  "Holt. Let go of me!" Her urgent tone snapped me out of my stupor, and I snatched my arm from her.

  "Are you alright?"

  We both asked the same question at the same time. I grinned as I flicked a chunk of carrot from her shoulder. She was staring at me in alarm.

  "Holt, your hand!"

  As if her comment flicked a switch, I became increasingly aware of a stinging sensation. I glanced down to see an angry red patch on the back of my hand, still wet from the soup that had spilled on us. The other traitorous hand had been so consumed in groping Maddy's breast, it hadn't even noticed its mate had been doused in hundred plus degree liquid.

  "Someone please get me a cold cloth or some ice." Maddy hailed a couple of employees with a wave of her hand. "Come. Sit." The burning increased in intensity as she guided me to a booth that had cleared out during the chaos. The rest of the customers returned to their seats or left as the chaos settled. A woman whose nametag indicated she was Sheila the manager handed Maddy a clean cloth and a cup of ice water, along with a first aid kit. "I am so sorry for the accident.” She dug through the kit and pulled out a can. "Here, try this. We spray this on if anyone happens to get burned."

  "It happens that often?" I asked wryly as Maddy covered the red mark with the cloth that she saturated in cold water. I blew out a sigh of relief. Maddy raised worried eyes to me.

  "Oh, no, we've never had an incident involving the customers before," the manager hastily corrected me. "Just an occasional one in the kitchen. I feel terrible."

  "It was an accident," I waved her off. "I'll be fine." I looked at Maddy, who was reading the instructions on the can of burn relief. "What about you? Are you hurt anywhere?"

  She glanced up. "It startled me for sure, but your arm took the brunt of it. I just got a few drips and splashes." She looked ruefully down at her clothes. "I can't go back to work smelling and looking like a soup kitchen, though."

  Neither could I. At least, my suit jacket had been spared since I'd left it in the office. I pulled out my cell phone and made a couple of calls while Maddy and Sheila fussed over my hand until Maddy finally shooed her away.

  "We're both done for the afternoon," I declared. "Let's head back to my truck. I'll take you home."

  Fifteen minutes later, we were in my truck, loaded down with extra food and gift cards courtesy of Sheila, and on the way home. I was still bothered by her reaction to the crowd of people at the diner. Her fear was not normal. Finally, I just decided to ask her.

  “Maddy, what was with the panic back there? It’s not the first time I’ve noticed it. I didn’t mean to put you in a situation that made things hard for you.”

  She raised her eyebrows as if surprised. I thought for sure she was going to shut me down, but to my surprise, she answered.

  “It wasn’t anything you did, Holt. Sometimes if crowds of people get too close to me or grab me when I’m not expecting it, I freak out. I…I had some bad experiences in prison, and it’s just kind of become an instinct. I’m trying to get over it, but sometimes it still catches me off guard. Please don’t feel bad. You couldn’t have known.”

  I felt like shit. True, I didn’t know about her panic attacks, but it was a reminder of how little I did know about her. I’d asked her twice about her life story with no real answers, but the outline I was putting together sounded like it was more of a tragedy than anything.

  “What happened to you?” I growled. To my surprise, she sighed and answered me.

  “Well, obviously it was no picnic being in prison, and in the end I suppose it could have been worse, but in the beginning I was scared. There were a few times things got rough.” She sighed and looked warily into my eyes. “I’m sure you know there are different levels of placement according to your crime, so I wasn’t in with really hardcore criminals. But there were a few women who were just plain mean, and they liked to ‘try out’ the new girls.”

  My blood turned to ice. “What do you mean by ‘try out’?”

  “Anything from trying to intimidate you to use your script to buy something they want from the canteen to outright stealing something like hygiene products. Sometimes they’d gang up on a girl and try to feel her up or get her to engage in sex play. They could get a little forceful about it. If you were lucky, they’d eventually leave you alone or move on to more willing girls or new ones.”

  I was horrified at the idea she’d been abused in any capacity. “Didn’t the guards stop it?” I asked incredulously.

  She laughed, not the happy kind, but cold and sharp. “Oh, come on, Holt, you’ve heard the stories. Sometimes the guards were the worst offenders.”

  “Maddy, were you…were you ever…” I couldn’t bring myself to say the words.

  She filled it in for me. “Raped?” It sounded even worse spoken out loud than it did in my mind, but I nodded.

  I breathed again when she shook her head.

  “No, but I was ganged up on a few times, sucker punched in the stomach and touched inappropriately. I went in thinking if I treated everyone with respect, they’d reciprocate. I learned right quick it doesn’t work that way. It was hard for a quiet girl like me, but you learn to be tough or get eaten alive.

  “It’s a paradox in some ways. The women in your cluster become like your family. You live with them and see them every day, all day. You learn about their families, their habits, their likes and interests as well as what they hate, their moods. Some you like better than others. Some you genuinely care about what happens to them. At the same time, you don’t feel anyone is truly your friend because every single one of them is about survival. Some are just more willing to do things than others.

  “I
n my block, there was one woman who was older than the rest of us. Her name was Nancy, but most people called her Mama Nan because she’d been there the longest, which earned her a huge level of respect. She’d been sentenced for dealing drugs, but she used the time to get herself clean. She liked to read and take classes, kind of like me. She took a liking to me and no one messed with me afterward, because they knew she could make life tougher for them. I was lucky.”

  I couldn’t help but stare at her. I guess I’d never really given a whole lot of thought behind what went on inside the prison walls. I was a litigator, not a prosecutor or defense attorney, so I wasn’t involved in cases like Maddy’s. But hearing her story helped me understand why she was so defensive and reacted the way she did when touched or in crowds. I stroked the back of my knuckles down her cheek. “I’m so sorry, Madelyn.”

  “Thank you. It’s over and I survived, thank God.”

  She made a funny noise and tried to cover her mouth, but I could still see her lips twitching. I was surprised. "What's so funny?"

  "It's been quite a day. Accosted twice. I never thought I'd say this, but maybe I was safer in prison. At least there I didn't have to watch out for cheating repairmen and flying vegetables," she giggled.

  It was hard to believe she could joke about her past. I teasingly tugged on her hair. I pulled back and held out a piece of wet noodle. "Yeah, you can never anticipate hair-eating pasta," I chuckled.

  She crinkled up her nose and laughed. “Nothing that won’t be cured with a good shower.”

  I squirmed in my seat and pushed the accelerator a little harder.

  God bless America. A friend wouldn’t picture himself spreading soap all over her wet, naked body.

  13

  Maddy

  Holt insisted on escorting me to my door, but once there he seemed fidgety while I unlocked the door. I'd asked if he'd like me to take a closer look at the burn on his arm, but he insisted he was fine and wanted to hurry home and clean up. While I believed him, I also sensed he was a bit anxious to put some distance between us.

  I couldn't blame him. Drama seemed to follow whenever we were together. I doubted he'd paid attention to where his hand had landed when he tried to pull me away from the crowd, but my body had. A funny flutter still resonated deep inside my pelvic muscles thinking about it. His touch on my breast had startled me at first, but within seconds, the warmth of his hand almost made me forget about the chaos that had surrounded us. I experienced the oddest desire to press further into his touch. Thankfully, the reaction of the crowd surrounding the spill prevented me from doing anything that stupid.

  Holt and I seemed to have put aside our confrontational ways. The trouble was, I understood confrontation; I'd dealt with it most of my life. What replaced our spats was much more confusing. I didn't know how to label our new status. Friendship? I wasn't sure I knew how to be friends with a guy. I didn't even have any girlfriends anymore, but I was pretty sure Holt didn't want to sit around and talk about boys or clothes or whatever girls talked about.

  I'd never had a boyfriend in school. I was quiet and shy and focused on my studies. There were girls I talked to in class and during lunch, but we each went our own way once the bell rang ending the school day. I'd never really taken the time to develop close friends. Maybe because I hoped I'd be leaving someday. More likely because I was afraid to bring them home in case my father would come home early.

  I grudgingly admitted to myself I was attracted to Holt, but chalked it up to the equivalent of a schoolgirl crush on the star athlete. The night he'd brought me home and stayed for dinner was etched in my mind. He'd made me laugh until he asked about my past. Thankfully, he hadn't pressed that issue. But then he'd gone and thanked me for making his evening better and kissed me. It was only a friendly peck on the forehead, a token gesture I was sure, but I still felt the warmth of his mouth as if he'd branded me.

  I reached up and grabbed two fistfuls of my hair and sighed. I was being ridiculous. There was no way a man as good-looking as Holt would ever give another glance at me outside of friendship. Any number of beautiful women were more likely to snag his attention, like the one I'd observed on my bus ride. She was more suited to a professional man like Holt. Besides, even if I were able to mimic her looks, he would never choose someone with my record.

  Moments later, I stood under a sharp spray of hot water to wash away any remaining vegetable smell. If only washing away the events of the day was just as easy. Not only was I rattled by Seth and the soup debacle, but in my gut, I was certain Misty was going to stir up some kind of trouble at work. I needed to keep an extra eye on her. I rolled my eyes and groaned. Why couldn't life give me a damn break? All I wanted was to avoid drama and move on with my life, even if I hadn't quite figured out what that looked like yet.

  Take your time, child. Even a broken clock is right twice a day. You’ll get there.

  I sighed. Gammy’s wisdom was often right. Maybe I was putting too much pressure on myself to figure it out all at one time. I rubbed some shampoo into my hair, but that action served to remind me of how Holt had massaged my stinging scalp. At first, I’d been suspicious at being touched, and had to withhold the instinct to hit back. But as his strong fingers and soothing tone broke through my surprise and confusion, I'd allowed myself to enjoy his comforting touch, almost as if I was receiving a lover's caress.

  Damn it! Was everything going to start making me think of Holten Andrews?

  The water began to grow cold, helping to douse thoughts of Holt. I hurried through the rest of my routine and pulled on a pair of soft pants made to look like jeans and a comfortable sweatshirt since I didn't have anywhere to go that required dressing in something nicer. It wasn't even mid-afternoon. I wasn't scheduled to tutor tonight, so I had a ton of free time on my hands, a concept I still struggled with. I wrinkled my nose as I scooped up my soup-stained clothes from the floor. Laundry was definitely in order later. For now, I needed a more satisfying distraction and decided I'd take my extra time today to whip up some meals for the upcoming week. It was one of my favorite ways to relax.

  Several hours later, I had heaps of chocolate chip cookies piled on the counter, a chicken pot pie baking in the oven, and leftover chicken parts simmering on the stove with some vegetables to make soup. I settled in to watch some television while I waited for the food to finish cooking.

  A frantic knocking at my door pulled me from a heated argument between family members on a popular talk show. Alarmed, I looked through the peephole saw the top of a head covered with long, black hair. I opened my door a couple of inches, cautiously leaving the chain lock in place. Seeing my frazzled neighbor, I quickly shut the door, undid the chain and reopened the door.

  "Serafina! Is everything okay?"

  "Please, Maddy. Please you watch Miguel for me for few minutes? I be back quick. He running a fever, and I need go to store and buy some medicine while he sleeps." I noticed the worry lines around her eyes.

  "Yes, of course. I'll be right there." I tried to smile reassuringly at her. I turned off everything in the kitchen and a few minutes later I entered her apartment. It was laid out identically to mine and as neat as a pin. The rooms were simply decorated, but still warm and inviting with bright throw blankets and pillows. Miguel was curled up on a couch where he had apparently fallen asleep while watching cartoons.

  "I so sorry to ask, Maddy. Mi madre, she is sick, also. I don't know no one else to ask."

  "I’m happy to help, Serafina. I happen to be home early today, and I don’t have any plans."

  "Si. I see a man bring you home. He is muy guapo, no?" She winked as she grabbed her purse.

  I wasn't sure what ‘guapo’ meant, but I could guess by her sly smile. I shook my head. "No, it's not like that. We work together." Repeat the idea often enough and maybe you'll believe it someday, I thought.

  Her expression fell. "Oh. Too bad. He has nice voice and nice...how you say? Politeness? Walking you inside?"

  "Manners
. Yes, sometimes he is very nice. Other times, he's got a sharp tongue."

  She looked at me questioningly. "He no have good mouth?"

  I laughed. "No, it's an expression that means he isn't afraid to say what he thinks even if it's not very nice."

  "Oh!" Her eyes twinkled. “All the more reason you go out with him. We women like a man with a little bite, eh? Shows they are passionate!"

  I shrugged, not sure how to answer. I was sure she knew better than me. With her silky black hair and flawless olive complexion, Serafina could probably have her pick of men if she chose to.

  Serafina left for the store. I curled up in a chair and watched the silly antics of the cartoon, choosing not to switch channels in case the change of noise woke the sick child. Miguel was still asleep when she came back about forty minutes later.

  After assuring her I hadn't minded coming over, I headed back to my apartment. I was surprised to find an envelope taped to my door. I hadn't noticed it when I'd left to go across the hall, but then, I'd been in a hurry and had pulled the door shut behind me without any thought. Entering the apartment, I slid my finger under the flap and pulled out a sheet of paper folded in thirds. As soon as I recognized the handwriting, I let the paper slip through my fingers as I ran to the living room window to scan for any sign of someone familiar. Nothing.

  I scanned the letter from my sister, Charly, again. Had she been to my apartment, or had she sent someone? Regardless, the knowledge that she knew where I lived unnerved me, as if a specter of memories and not-so-buried feelings were haunting me.

  I turned from the window, stubbing my toe on something. I looked down and noticed the laundry basket in my path, the sheet of paper I'd dropped earlier resting on top.

  How appropriate. Allowing Charly back in my life would be like allowing dirty laundry to be left lying around.

  I'd spent the past six years of my life without her, and I’d convinced myself I was better off that way. She hadn't bothered to show up for my hearing nor had I had any contact with her until the day I was released. So what could she possibly be up to now? At the same time, she was the person I’d looked up to when I was little, who in her own way, had been there for me. Despite an oftentimes selfish personality, at least she was there, which was more than I could say for our father who chose drinking over his girls.