Page 28 of More With You

“I find that hard to believe.” I mean it. Ms. T is beautiful, even now, and I’ve seen Mr. T often enough to know he’s no toad, but she’s a born exaggerator.

She waves a hand at me. “Flattery will get you everywhere, sweetheart.” She dips an arm behind the love seat where we’re sitting and produces a bottle of whiskey out of nowhere, tipping a shot’s worth into my cup. “You drink that and see if things don’t get a little clearer.” She chuckles. “Or blurrier, dependin’ on how many we knock back.”

“Are you trying to get me drunk, so he has to come pick me up?” I chuckle nervously. It’s exactly the kind of sneaky, well-meaning tactic she’d execute.

A mischievous grin graces her face. “What do you take me for? I’d have my hubby drive you before I let that pesky devil take you anywhere.”

I don’t believe her, but I let it slide and sip the shot. It’s harsh and I nearly cough, but it warms my belly as it slips down from where it’s burning my throat raw. There’s no label on the bottle, other than a homemade one, so this is probably one of the Thibodeauxs’ infamous bathtub brews.

She takes a shot, too, so it’s probably a good thing she flipped the store sign to “closed” when I arrived. There’s a sixth sense to this woman, and she took one look at me and knew whatever I had to say was going to need total privacy, without people perusing the shelves while I spilled my guts to her. No one wants an interruption of, “Can I get some service here?” while they’re trying to pick up the pieces.

“I swear on all that’s good and holy that I’ll do some very bad and unholy things if I ever see that Levi Montrose swannin’ about town,” Ms. T grumbles, pouring fresh measures. “Sure, Ben should’ve told you with his own two lips that he had himself a littlun, but that Levi had no business tellin’ tales that weren’t his to tell. A slip of the tongue, you can forgive, but he’s got it waggin’ half out his mouth! And there ain’t no forgivin’ him callin’ you a gold digger. I’ve seen the sort, and you’re not one who’s pannin’ for the shiny stuff.”

I nod. “I don’t know if I’ve ever hated anyone more, and I’ve had a lot of reason to hate people in my life.”

“Oh no, hon, don’t you ever let yourself hate. It’s poison for the soul,” she tells me sagely with a wag of her finger. “That’ll rot you up from the inside out.”

I smile and lift my cup. “Like this, you mean? Do I even want to know what it’s made from?”

“Trade secret. Now, you have yourself a couple more and see if you feel the same.” She winks and tilts the espresso cup to my lips. I drink it down, tasting the bitter mix of pure alcohol and strong coffee.

My eyes bulge and there’s a tickle in the back of my throat, branching away from the burning sensation that’s edging deeper into my stomach. The kind that’s probably going to call for Alka-Seltzer later. As I struggle to stop myself from coughing up my innards, Ms. T puts a hand on my knee, patting it gently; the way my grandma used to. A gesture that says, “I’m here, girl, and I’m not going anywhere.” That might’ve stayed true, if her mind hadn’t gone a-wandering into places I, and the grandma I knew, couldn’t follow.

“You know, if you need help with your grandma’s bills, all you have to do is ask,” Ms. T urges in a soft, empathetic voice. “My own ma was in one of those facilities until she passed—had a stroke, bless her heart. I wouldn’t put that evil on my worst enemy, and I wouldn’t put those bills on ‘em, neither. In my day, you could manage it with one decent income, but it makes me mighty queasy, thinkin’ of all the things you’ve been holdin’ together all this time, and all you’re goin’ to have to keep clutchin’ onto.”

I immediately shake my head. “I’ll find a way to keep things from unraveling. Always have. If it means taking on another job or extra shifts, then so be it. I can handle it.” I glance at her. “But what do I do about Ben, Ms. T? I’m not built for kids: my own or anyone else’s. Even if I could get past that and accept it, what if Levi tells Ben about my grandma? And it sounds like he’s already told the DuCates!”

“One wrench in the works at a time, honey,” she says firmly. “Let’s start with the easy one.”

I laugh stiffly. “There’s an easy one?”

“Levi tellin’ Ben your business.” She pours another measure for herself, drinks it in one, and stares off dramatically into the middle distance. “You go tell him yourself, before Levi or the DuCates get the chance. Beat the snake before it gets through the grass, you know?”

Hearing her say it so matter-of-factly, it does make a lot of sense. I wouldn’t have to promise Ben anything while I had that discussion; it could just be a simple, public meeting where I get the heavy stuff off my chest.

Ms. T seems to sense where my mind is going. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to tell him about your past, either. See, the way I figure it, he’s probably smackin’ himself silly about not jumpin’ in to tell you about his littlun first, but he’s probably wonderin’ why you kicked him out like he just told you he had himself a harem of twenty, too.” She pauses. “You had every right to be furious as a gator in season, don’t get me wrong, but he’ll understand his fine backside gettin’ hoofed out of your house better if he knows about all the chaos you’ve left behind you.” She corrects herself, “Mostly left behind you.”

“I… don’t know if I can.” My chest feels tight at the mere thought of unleashing all of that on Ben. Having been in precisely zero relationships, I’ve never gotten to the point where I needed to exhume my childhood and early adulthood. That, alone, makes me want to run for the hills.

Ms. T puts a hand on my back and rubs slow circles. “You can, honey. Honesty is the best policy—they say that for a reason. Besides, tellin’ him who you are and why you are is easier than breakin’ wind in front of the man you’re mad for, for the first time. Believe me!” She cackles and the tense grip in my chest eases ever so slightly, like the clenched fist around my heart is thinking twice about crushing it.

“As for the next thing,” Ms. T continues, her voice still breathy with laughter, “I’m gonna go ahead and hope that Ben’s the kind of man I think he is. I’m gonna hope he’s not puttin’ his money on you both winnin’, together, only to cast you aside when his family get involved. And they will, if you decide to stick with him. Family are always pokin’ their noses into the business of their kids, not just the rich ones.”

I shudder and my cup is magically refilled. “I’m guessing them being wealthy makes it harder, though?”

“Without a hair of a doubt, honey!” she declares. “So, you’re gonna need to decide if Ben is worth the hassle, because you’re gonna have yourself some mountains to climb. Then again, there’s one silver linin’.”

I raise an eyebrow. “There is?”

“Rich folks are scaredy cats, and your man Ben is the only son and heir. They’ll hoot and holler about disownin’ and disinheritin’ him, but I say they won’t dare. Who are they gonna hand their dynasty to, hmm? Sleazy Jeff, the cousin no one talks about? Little Bobby, the nephew who’s got a taste for snow, and I’m not talkin’ the cold stuff that you ski on?”

I haven’t heard of a Jeff or a Bobby, and I get the feeling she doesn’t actually know about any of the DuCate extended family, but it’s a comfort to hear her reason things out for me. Besides, Ben insisted he didn’t take a cent from his mother or father, so he probably won’t be the kind of guy who cares if he’s disinherited, even if it was thrown at him as a threat. That’d be my hope, anyway, which suggests I’m leaning toward second chance city. Still, I’ve got a few towns of doubt to trek through, first.

“What about the biggest problem?” It’s the one Ms. T is skirting around, and so am I, but if she can’t help me out, then I’ll be back at square one.

Ms. T nods in thought. “It’s a slippery little sucker, to be sure, and I don’t have much advice to give.” She presses the lacquered sides of her head, but there’s not a hair out of place. “You say you ain’t built for children, and that’s somethin’ only you can know. Now, this ain’t my place, maybe, but when has that ever stopped me before? See, I reckon there’s a bit of your imagination that’s broken—the bit that lets you see what a happy childhood looks like. You ain’t had one, so how could you picture it, much less picture yourself as part of another child’s growin’ up years?”

“I can’t argue with that,” I admit. A few hours ago, I couldn’t even remember what I was doing at six years old. It’s all cigarette smoke, piled up dishes, moldy takeout, loud music and locked doors to me.

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