Page 28 of Love & Rockets

Drop-off and pick-up were important to Darla. She was all too aware the countdown to adolescent independence was in full swing. As things stood now, she used the fact that Sally Ride Middle School lay on the opposite side of a busy highway as her excuse for not making her kid walk to school and back. She didn’t even like for Grace to ride the bus, except in the most dire of circumstances. The thought of her child coming home to an empty apartment made her nauseous, and Darla did everything in her power to ensure those instances were the exception, and not the rule.

Most people might consider a job slinging rib baskets in a barbecue joint beneath them, but The Pit’s lunch-only hours and long-established clientele made the waitressing gig a single mom’s dream job. Sure, the associate’s degree in business administration she’d earned online could have landed her a cushy office job, but doing so would have meant leaving Grace in an after-school program—or worse, alone—for two or three hours each day. Darla knew single parents who made those choices, and she didn’t judge them, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to do leave Gracie to her own devices.

Not when her own mother, who’d never worked a day in her adult life, had left her only child to the care of hired help.

Darla knew how dangerous freedom could be, and how quickly a person’s entire life could spin out of control. Irrevocable choices were made in mere seconds. She couldn’t make Grace’s for her, but she wanted to be close at hand when her baby needed her.

She decided long ago she’d choose parenting over money or prestige any day. So, she kept the job at The Pit, clocked in after she dropped Grace at school, ran her fat calories off for seven hours, then clocked out in time for thirty minutes of ‘me’ time before she hit the pick-up line. And she stood by her decision—even if her choices meant wearing sneakers with a hole in them for a couple more weeks.

Locking the apartment door, she jogged down the open staircase that fed into the parking lot. Her car was a year older than Grace but ran like a champ thanks to Harley and his magic fix-it skills. The engine didn’t exactly purr, but sweet Jolene didn’t belch black smoke and backfire outside the elementary school like her predecessor, Lucille, had.

She sat for moment, giving the struggling air conditioner a chance to blow some of the late summer heat from the car. While she waited, she tilted the rearview mirror down, checked her face for stray streaks of sauce, then fluffed her hair. The cropped cut made styling her naturally curly hair easy-peasy.

She and Grace had splurged and gone to American Hairlines for their end-of-summer trims rather than their usual trip to the SuperClippers. Zelda Jo had gushed for a good thirty minutes when she walked through the door the next morning. Though Darla didn’t mind being compared to Demi Moore, she knew there wasn’t any real resemblance between her and the former Mrs. Kutcher, other than the haircut. Still, the older woman felt compelled to wax poetic about the pottery wheel scene from Ghost whenever there was the slightest lull in business.

Thankfully, The Pit was usually packed from the moment they unlocked the door until Bubba told them to hang the ‘all smoked out’ sign on the door. Darla glanced down at her shirt as she crept out of her parking space. She loved the bright neon color, but wasn’t quite as crazy about the new slogan. Bubba’d been super-good to her over the years. She’d wash and wear the shirt every day if she had too. Even if the printing on the back proclaimed, “You don’t need teeth to eat my meat.”

The shirts were tacky, but so were Bubba and Zelda Jo, bless their hearts. And even though they could drive her crazy, she loved them with her whole heart. Bubba, Zelda Jo, Harley Cade, and his sequin-loving mama, Connie, proved time and time again they were all the family she truly needed.

Just as her own parents had shown breeding and pedigree didn’t do anything to enhance a person’s worth.

She smirked at her reflection then readjusted the mirror. Her father had been one of the most respected deacons at Christ Baptist. Cafeteria Christians. That’s what Harley’s mama called “those hypocrites who think they get to pick and choose which of the commandments best suit their purpose.”

Honor thy father and mother.

A favorite in the Kennet household back in the day. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything etched in stone about loving your children without reservation or expectation. And when she truly needed her parents to love her unconditionally, they’d not only let her down, but also held her in open contempt. Now, instead of wallowing in the mire of a disappointing only child, they chose to pretend she’d never existed at all.

Less than twenty-four hours ago, her father had plucked a skewer of coconut shrimp from her platter then looked right through her as if she were made of cellophane. Darla drummed her fingers against the wheel as she negotiated the route to the middle school and wondered if Jake Dalton went to church. She knew his parents still belonged to Christ Baptist, but the Dalton family didn’t seem to be as flashy about their devotion as some.

Maybe that had something to do with science. Darla figured people who put the majority of their intellectual stock in fact had to struggle a little with the concept of faith. She sure did, and she wasn’t nearly as into proving things as people like Jake and Brian Dalton. Still, as much as she liked to think of herself as a realist, Darla had plenty of faith.

Not a fake faith they trotted out each week dressed up in its finest feathers. She figured God still loved her even if she barely made one service once a month. Her belief was unshakable. Harley, Connie, Mr. Beau, Bubba, and even Zelda Jo, annoying as she might be, were angels who walked the Earth. A quiet kind of faith. In herself, and Grace and the life they’d figured out together.

Darla believed every obstacle life threw at her was an opportunity to learn and grow. She hadn’t been so philosophical about it when she was eighteen, pregnant, and scared out of her wits. Then, she’d been abandoned and betrayed by the people who were supposed to love her unconditionally. People who used faith and morality as something to hide behind, when they were really only concerned with their pride. Again, she hadn’t really understood at the time, but in the years since, she’d acquired both distance and perspective. And watching the little girl she’d carried in her belly for nine months learn and grow and flourish had given her the greatest gift of all—faith in herself.

Straightening in her seat, she resolved to carry that same conviction into her date with Jake. She was a strong, capable woman. A force to be reckoned with. She narrowed her eyes as she scanned an intersection. Jake Dalton had better watch out. Darla Kennet had an itch and a little black dress ready to see some playing time. She hoped he was prepared to deal with a woman who was more than ready for blastoff.

****

Jake had to stop looking down the front of Darla’s dress. He was being rude. Inappropriate. She was a mother, for chrissake. Those breasts weren’t recreational; they were functional. Okay, maybe not now, but they were once. And he shouldn’t be staring at them. Even if the plunging neckline gave him a tantalizing eyeful every time she reached for her glass.

“Is your food okay?”

He blinked but found himself powerless to drag his gaze from the dip of the vee. Pale as freshly skimmed cream, those mouthwatering mounds pressed close to one another as she leaned in. He wanted nothing more than to press his face right into the soft crevice—

“Jake?”

“Hm?”

“Is there something wrong with your chicken?”

He swallowed hard as she moved in a little closer. He watched her fingers close around the stem of her wine glass. “Huh-uh.”

Darla’s already husky voice dropped to a whisper. “Then maybe you should pay a little more attention to the breast on your plate.”

She took a healthy slug of her wine and plunked the glass back down. Then, to his mortification, she tugged the sides of her dress closer, making it impossible for either of them to pretend he hadn’t been ogling her in the middle of Mobile’s trendiest restaurant. The tips of his ears burst into flames. Dropping his gaze to his untasted entree, he curled his hand into a fist.

“I’m sorry.”

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