Page 24 of Rebel

Rebel

Last night had been the best night of my life in more ways than one. For some reason, Lacey saw me as a potential romantic partner rather than a co-worker. I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what changed on her end. Maybe it was seeing me get patched into the Slayers and being celebrated by my club brothers. Or it could have been seeing another woman hanging all over me. Maybe it was good old-fashioned jealousy?

I wished I knew, because right now, I was worried that it might have been the copious amounts of alcohol that we’d both drunk. I’d hate to think she was more tipsy than she seemed, and that was behind her decision to follow me into the basement and jumping into my lap.

Waking up to find her side of the bed cold only increased my anxiety. She wouldn’t be the first beautiful woman to wake up and find herself in bed naked with a man who she might not have chosen sober. Since I’m the guy who never caught a break when it came to women, I was already primed for her to act like it never happened. In fact, that could be why she wanted to ride my cock so bad, because she never intended to give me more than one night.

Fuck.

I sat up in bed and ran my fingers through my hair, trying to figure out my next move. It was the weekend and since I wasn’t a prospect anymore, I didn’t have anything on my schedule. For the first time in almost a year, I was free as a bird.

Therefore, I jumped in the shower, got dressed and climbed on my bike. A ride out to our family homestead seemed like the perfect way to spend the morning. I stopped at a local florist and bought a bouquet of roses and box of chocolates. With images of my gran flickering through my head, I was soon pulling into the driveway in front of the two-story farmhouse. It had been in my family for generations, with each generation building onto it and ensuring it was kept in immaculate condition for the next generation.

I came up the steps and opened the front door. I could smell the scent of pancakes and maple syrup as I walked in. Making a beeline for the kitchen, I found my grandmother sitting at the table in her long velvet robe working on a word search puzzle while her caregiver scurried around plating up her breakfast.

Her caregiver, Beatrice, caught sight of me first and said, “Good morning, Mr. Ross.”

My gran eagerly looked up from her puzzle book and a brilliant smile lit up her face when she saw that I came bearing gifts. “It is my birthday again, so soon?”

I held out her flowers first and then her chocolates. “Even better. It’s your unbirthday. You only get one birthday a year but three hundred and sixty four unbirthdays.”

“You used to love Alice in Wonderland when you were a boy.”

I sat down beside her. Intent on spoiling her breakfast, I opened her box of chocolates and slid them near enough for her to help herself, before explaining, “It was never Alice that I liked. It was the Mad Hatter. He was mad, like me.”

My grandmother laughed before clutching at her chest for a second. “You’re going to be the death of me, Benny. But I’ll die laughing and that’s more than most folks can claim.”

I reached out and patted her small, thin hand. “You’re going to live to be a hundred and twenty. Just wait and see.”

Her expression darkened, “I’ve already lived too long, Benny.” Her bottom lip trembled but she didn’t say the rest. I already knew what she was thinking. She had said before that no parent should outlive their own child. She had even mentioned that at my mother’s eulogy. Her funeral had been packed with people who knew and loved her. Her death had left a gaping hole in both our lives.

My gran just sat there staring straight ahead, as if she were replaying it all in her head. The only indication that she was cognizant of what was going on around her and not totally lost to old memories was her hand reaching out to get a chocolate and bringing it to her lips. After a few seconds, she nibbled a small bite off the end and murmured, “This is good chocolate, Benny. You always get the good stuff.”

I told her a tall tale, “Well, you know all the other chocolate companies went out of business back in seventy-four. This is the only kind they make, so it’s good that it happens to be your favorite. Otherwise, you’d be out of luck.”

My grandmother gave me a withering look. “Benny, you were made in the spitting image of your grandfather, may he rest in peace. Along with his unruly hair, big hands, and ungainly gait, you inherited his love of joking. And just so you know, I do not approve of lying. Not at all.”

“Now Grandma,” I said soothingly. “You know it’s not lying if the lie is too big to be remotely believable. It’s a tall tale. A completely different animal altogether.”

Just then Beatrice put down a huge platter of pancakes and my grandmother said primly, “Let’s put all this business with tall tales aside for the moment and have some breakfast.”

“You know what they say about pancakes, right?”

By this point my gran was onto me. She stifled a smile and told me, “No, I don’t know what they say about pancakes and neither do you. You’re just angling to tell another tall tale. Eat, and then we’ll go for a walk and pick blackberries. You can take some to those starving boys you hang around with.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She’s only ever met Storm and Celt. To my gran’s credit, they really had been hungry that day. She had loaded them down with fruit and berries, marveling at how much they could eat at one sitting.

By the time our visit was over, my gran had managed to tell a tall tale or two herself. I ended up with a gallon bag of blackberries because her gardener forgot to cut back the bushes last year, so she got a bumper crop, some larger and healthier than others but all of them were edible. I barely managed to fit them in the compartment on the back of my bike.

***

On the way home, I thought about last night. I couldn’t seem to get Lacey out of my mind to save my life. When I was riding through town, I decided to call her to see if she would like some blackberries. She said she would, and I could drop them off at her parents’ house, where she was still staying.

Her parents lived in a two-story light colored brick house in a solidly upper class neighborhood. It was clear that Lacey had a very different upbringing from me. Other than our family homestead, our family had very little. It was the one thing we took genuine pride in.

She answered the door right away when I rang the bell, all smiles.

I held out the blackberries, “I come bearing gifts, ladybug.”

---