Page 108 of Savage

For a few weeks when I was very small, I’d had a babysitter come take care of me when my dad was out on a job. Josie would let me stay up to watch TV. One night she’d put on a scary movie, and when I’d told her I was frightened, Josie confessed that she was too. That had frightened me even more because if the responsible adult was afraid, then there was something to be worried about.

Tank’s expression gives me that same feeling. He looms over me and very slowly, leans in. We’ve kissed thousands of times before. Sometimes when we were hidden away in his room at the clubhouse all we’d do was kiss—much to my disappointment at the time. I never understood that. Until now. And now, things are infinitely different.

“What are you doing?” I ask. Tank’s warm breath washes over my face, and I stare up at him, waiting for an answer. Searching his eyes for something, anything. But they’re no longer fiery and intense—they’re cold as stone.

Adeline clears her throat. “Dinner is ready.”

Tank straightens, but for a long time he doesn’t take his eyes off of me, and then he shakes his head and says, “Coming.”

He turns and walks out to the dining room, and I lag behind.

What the hell just happened?

When I enter the adjoined lounge and dining room, I have a perfect view of the beach. The day may be cool, but the water is a crystal clear cerulean.

“Your house is beautiful,” I mutter, though truth be told it is more to myself than to Adeline.

“Thank you, but its Jonah’s house. I just take care of it for him.”

“Do we have to go over this again, Ma?” he says, and for the first time I notice he’s sitting at the head of the table, sipping … is that sparkling water? “The deed is in your name. It’s your house.”

She rolls her eyes and gestures to the leg of lamb before him. “Be a dear and carve that, puddin’. Poor Ivy will starve to death listening to us bicker.”

“Ma.”

“Sorry,” she says, picking up her own wine glass with sparkling water and sipping it.

“Puddin’?” I ask, warily, afraid he’ll shut down the conversation because he so rarely tells me anything about his past. All this time I’ve known him I had no idea his mother was even alive, much less that he came to visit her every Sunday. “Why puddin’?”

Adeline laughs. “From birth to puberty Jonah was … on the larger side. Not solid like he is now, you understand, but chubby. Bless his little heart. The kids at school gave him such a hard time. They used to call him all sorts of things: Tubs, Cake, Doughboy, Jonah the Whale.”

I risk a glance at Tank. His jaw is clamped shut, and the little muscle in his cheek twitches the way it does when he wants to hit something. He hates every second of this, but he doesn’t warn her to stop.

“He wasn’t overfed, of course,” Adeline continues. “We were poor. Jonah’s father liked to gamble, and we scraped together what meals we could. We had a game we used to play when Wayne was out drinking with his buddies; we’d tear the room apart looking for spare change. He always got so happy when he found our buried treasure—that’s what we called it. His little face would light up, and we’d add it to the collection of coins we kept hidden away from his father.

“When Jonah was at school I’d gather those coins together and use them to buy whatever offcuts I could find at the butcher for our next meal. So despite being horribly poor, Jonah was fat. And not just a little fat; he was huge for such a young thing. When he’d smile, you could barely see his eyes. They’d get lost in the creases around them.”

“Jesus, do we have to take a trip down memory lane?” Tank says, that little muscle in his jaw popping out. She looks at her son, and though he might be fully-grown and could bench-press her easily, she still has her “Mum look” down pat. “Ma, Ivy doesn’t need to hear every emasculating detail of my childhood.”

“Actually, it’s kind of nice seeing a different side of you,” I say. Tank’s brow furrows, and he balls his fist on the table beside his plate as his angry blue eyes settle on me. I avert my gaze.

“Jonah. The roast,” Adeline prompts, with a smile that has him shooting her a “don’t start” face. Seeing that connection between them, a trust based on love and loyalty with no desire to gain something more, has a lump forming in my throat. I was too young to have that with my mother. She laughed and played with me, but she never got the chance to do that with me as her adult daughter. If she’d survived, I’m certain we would have had that, and maybe it would be me bringing home Tank to meet my mother instead of the other way around. Then again if she’d lived, I doubt very much that I’d have met Tank at all.

I stare down at my plate as I contemplate this, and Tank interrupts my thoughts by slapping several huge slices of roast meat on it. I open my mouth to protest, but he shoots me a warning glare, and I promptly shut up. I glance at Adeline, who’s watching the two of us like a hawk. For the first time since I arrived, she doesn’t look happy.

“At the risk of sounding like my son, eat. Please? I don’t want to be left with all this food when the two of you leave.” She passes me the dish for the baked potatoes, and I take one and set it on my plate.

“You need to eat more than that, Ivy,” Tank says.

“I’m fine,” I say, scowling at him. “Thank you.”

“Bullshit,” Tank says and snatches up the serving spoons, throwing vegetables on my plate. He slops a huge amount of gravy from the gravy boat onto the meal and slams it down on the table.

“I can feed myself,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Then fucking do it,” he snaps. “I can’t be the only one invested in your health here.”

“Excuse me,” I say, standing and stepping away from the table.

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