Page 45 of Flog Me, Sir

She huffed again. “I clean that church and know that boy better than his own momma—you know exactly what I mean.”

My body sagged, and I laid back onto the bed, eyes closed. Memories of his eyes, his smile fluttered the butterflies to life in my stomach. “Yes, he put his hands on me.”

“And did you like it?”

Heat flushed my face. “Yes,” I squeaked out the truth.

“So what’s the problem?”

“I shouldn’t like it.”

“Why ever not, child?”

I opened my eyes and peered down over my nose at her on the foot of my bed. “Because it’s abuse, Mrs. Hummel.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, it’s no such thing!” She glared at me, her head tipped to the side. “Do you think Mr. Adam abuses his wife?”

“Of course not!”

“At least once a week you see her squirming on her chair at breakfast. Can’t tell me he didn’t tan her hide the night before.”

“Mrs. Hummel!”

Her gaze narrowed further. “It’s the damn truth, child. Tell me he doesn’t love her. Tell me he wouldn’t take a pitch fork to any man who thought to touch what’s his.”

My turn to huff. “That’s cave-like and all sorts of fucked up,” I muttered.

“It’s love, Lissa. It’s how a man like him shows passion—it’s agreed upon, shared. Mutually enjoyed.”

I stewed over her words, knowing them to be true, yet not knowing.

“Maybe you ought to let that boy love you in the way he wants—see if it ain’t the real thing,” she muttered and shifted.

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“And when he returns to Boston and leaves me behind?” I asked, my voice breaking.

“How ‘bout you worry over that later?” She patted my calf. “Focus on now. Focus on what’s in front of you. Enjoy the hell out of it like I never got to.”

I pushed up onto my elbows. “What do you mean like you never got to?”

“I loved a man once upon a time. A man like Lily’s, like my boy Garret, but I’d been too full of fear, too insecure to let Howie love me in the way he wanted.”

“What happened?” I whispered.

“Nothing, child. Nothing at all.” Her sad smile revealed the truth still stung.

“I’m sorry.”

“I done married another man, Lissa, one who the good Lord took from me after only a year, but we never had that type of passion. I don’t regret marryin’ him, but I do regret not allowin’ Howie to love me as madly as he wanted, the way I figured out I’d needed—too late. Take what you need,” she said, patting my leg again, “because his need is givin’ it to you. Share in that passion and hold on tight. Don’t let go for nothin’, child.” She got up and shuffled toward the door.

“Why didn’t you go after Howie once your husband died?” I called out before she could leave.

“He’d moved on. Had a wife and child.”

Mrs. Hummel walked out, leaving me with a full heart and mind.

I’d left Garret behind a few hours earlier, and having only asked for one to myself, I wondered if he wanted to come looking for me. He’d given me the space I requested without question. He’d allowed me time—and still sat patient. Waiting for me to make up my damn mind. Waiting to see if I would allow him to lavish attention on me, or if I would leave his emotions and desires behind like everyone in his past had.

My heart beat picking up pace, I climbed off my bed, my mind set.

I wouldn’t live my whole life alone. At least, not the next two days, I told myself while heading to the bathroom across the hallway. I would grab what I could—while I could—and hold on tight for as long as Garret allowed.

If he broke my heart, so be it. At least I wouldn’t live with regrets.

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