Page 8 of Average Joe

I attracted them like flies.

Joe

“Fucking fly.” I groaned, swatting away the nuisance. I set my coffee on the small dresser and parted the thin bedroom curtains, scenting them for the thousandth time. The lingering stench of cigar flooded me with childhood memories—happier times.

A door slam drew my attention out the dust-spotted window to the yard next door. My new neighbor dashed to her car through the darkness, her long auburn hair bouncing against the hood of her baggy sweatshirt.

Sweet Jesus, that woman.

A grin cracked my face as I recalled the perfection hid beneath her loose clothing: smooth skin made for rough fingers, her body soft where it mattered but tight in all the right places, long, sweet legs, and an ass I wanted to gnaw like bubblegum. Marley had attitude for days—a fighter if ever I’d met one. What was she fighting? I hadn’t a clue. I doubted she knew either, but damn, that fiery spirit would be fun to unravel.

I hoped to God there wasn’t a man in the picture, because I wanted more.

True, I should’ve inquired about a significant other before we’d desecrated Alice’s house, but in the frenzy of sharing our mutual grief, we’d drowned our sorrows in each other’s grunts and moans, and there’d been no room for talking.

I watched from behind my shield of darkness while she settled into her Crosstrek. She ran the engine for a good five minutes while she scrolled through her phone, then rolled out of her long driveway and headed east.

I closed my eyes and allowed one more playback of the previous night when she’d rode me on the stairs, her heavy tits bouncing in my face, my spirit igniting for the first time in years, my body on fire, my libido unquenchable.

When I turned to face the empty room again, grief squeezed my chest. I itched for simple things—a sweet “good morning,” a hug, or the scent of pancakes and homemade maple syrup. Alice had been everything good about my youth—wisdom, grace, and the perfect dash of rebellion—and as I turned and studied her room, I couldn’t find a lick of regret for what I’d done. She’d given me everything a young man needed, and in return, I’d given her freedom.

Her faded pink robe hung on a giant white hook nailed to the closet door. Purple crocheted flowers trimmed the collar, some of them hanging by frayed strings. Her slippers sat on the floor, toes touching the wall, waiting for feet that would never again fill their vacant space. Her hairbrush lay on the small vanity perched between the bedroom windows, silver hairs tangled in the stiff black teeth. Her bed stayed as she’d left it, one half made, the other with the sheets and blankets thrown back, her pillow still bearing the indent where her head should be lying. At some point, I’d have to change the bedding.

My gut knotted. Another day.

The doorbell chimed, and my dark thoughts dissipated, freeing me from the ghosts. I jogged down the stairs, tore open the front door, and was assaulted by two of the craziest fuckers I’d ever known.

“Ready to catch some fish?” Frank asked, his heavy arm slung over my shoulder as he raked his nails over the top of my head. He’d damn near doubled in size since the last time we’d wrestled.

Then again, so had I.

“Can’t wait.” I’d missed our early morning excursions and had never been more grateful to see those two knuckleheads.

“Morning.” Connor held up a massive thermos, then led the way to the kitchen. “We’ll fill this baby, then be on our way.” He busied himself with the coffee pot. He was overdue for a haircut, his blond hair hanging in his eyes and messy like he’d just rolled out of bed and hadn’t taken a look in the mirror.

“My gear?” I asked.

“In the truck.” Frank perched his ass in a kitchen chair, dark eyes aimed my way. His dark brown hair had been recently trimmed, cut close to his scalp—no nonsense, like Frank. “You find anything yet?”

“No.” I scratched a nagging itch behind my ear. “But Larry didn’t come to the funeral to give his condolences. He was fishing for something.” He’d tried more than once to case the house, and Con, Frank, and I had taken turns steering him back into the living room.

Frank, who’d graduated college with me and gone on to become a cop without me, crossed his arms, nodding. “You get anything outta him?”

“No. But I will.”

My uncle Larry. Dirty to the bone. He’d had eight years to hound Alice. “Why did he wait for my return to come sniffing around?” I asked the room.

“Don’t know, buddy. You talk to any of the neighbors? Maybe Alice confided in one of them?”

“Working on it,” I grumbled. Most of the attendees at Alice’s service had been neighbors, and though every one of them had come offering casseroles and condolences, I hadn’t been in the right headspace to interrogate.

Anger and regret still dominated my gray matter.

“Goddamn that woman!” I slammed a fist on the table, then pushed to my feet, agitated, and stepped into the other room. At times, I hated Alice for being so damn sweet, for making me love her so much, for staying with Uncle Bill, her piece of shit husband. But she was worth the sacrifice, I reminded myself, breathing deep. Alice was worth all the wasted years. After four controlled inhales and exhales, I returned to face my friends again.

Frank stood and tucked his chair back under the table like I hadn’t had a fucking meltdown. “That neighbor of yours…” He nodded in the direction of Marley’s house. “You hit her up? Maybe she knows something.”

“Doubt it.” Marley was off-limits, but if I voiced my demand, they’d want to know why. I didn’t understand why myself. So I told them, “I’ll poke around when the time’s right.”

---