Page 10 of Triple Puck Valentines

I let her have me take a step back. I won’t do this with Mama in the other room. In fact I’m surprised she hasn’t heard and come out with her wooden spoon upraised. Well, maybe she’s hard of hearing as well. Wouldn’t be surprised with everything else.

He grunts outpussyunder his breath but loud enough to be sure I can hear. Not subtle. Not subtle at all.

“Children. How do you want your eggs? Scrambled all right?” Mama’s voice wobbles over to us from the kitchen.

“You two be nice. You don’t want to upset your mama do you?” Kat glares, pinches my skin on my triceps. Ow. She’s mad enough to give Noah a glare of death as well.

“That sounds wonderful ma’am. Let me help you.” Kat calls out in a happy voice that belies the looks she gives the both of us. She goes into the bathroom to wash her hands. The running of water doesn’t take long to shut off. She strolls back out, glaring still till she’s out of sight into the kitchen.

“Boy. You’re in trouble now.” He smirks, he taunts, his chin jutting out, he crosses his arms over his chest. He rolls back on his heels.

“At least I have a woman to make up to. One that cares enough to show me the error of my wayward ways.” It my turn to show my superiority. I get make up sex. My turn to thrust my chest out.

“Boys. Wash up now. You hear?” Like the little boys we still feel around her we rush into the bathroom practically falling over each other to get done what she wants. It doesn’t matter that Noah was almost an adult when I was born. We rush to do her bidding.

Walking into the kitchen the scent of bacon and eggs becomes even more apparent. “Sit. Sit.”

Mama is turning bacon like the pro she is, Kat scrambles the eggs a bit hesitant. “That’s it dear. Perfect. Now take the pan off the burner and scrape the eggs onto the platter. There you go. Perfect.”

“So, Jeremiah. Tell me why you’re here? Not that I’m not thrilled, I’m sure there’s a reason.” She places the bacon on the paper-covered plate, not looking at me.

8

KATRINA

I’m waiting for Hutch’s answer. I wonder if he’s as confused as I am. She doesn’t know why we’re here?

His eyebrows furl down, his head tossing back and forth between his mother and Noah, who’s gazing at his plate, piling scrambled eggs and bacon as if the food will solve his problems.

“I don’t understand. Noah called me and said you’re sick and I needed to come now.”

She sits a cup of coffee between her hands. Her face is resolute and strong. “He’s right. But there was no reason to call you. Nothing will change and you have your own life away from here. It would have been better if he stayed away.” She turns her head to her oldest, her voice hard.

“What’s wrong Mama. What treatment will they do?”

“That’s the thing. She won’t do treatment. No chemo. I was hoping you could talk her into doing it. You were the favorite after all.” His voice bitter and hurt and sour, years of resentful emotions, by the hard set to his face now come to the surface.

“Now Noah. You know that’s not true. He was just a baby and you were a teenager but an adult taking on a full-grown man’s role. You had to grow up fast.” She pats his hand, but he rises to his feet so fast the chair scrapes against the floor, rocks on the two back legs. Falls back to all four.

“I’ve got work to finish. Jeremiah you talk her into it. She’ll die otherwise. I’m done talking.” He throws open the door to the outside, the clucks of chickens louder, the door slams shut. The room fills with silence. The silence of people that don’t want to talk about the obvious question.

“Okay Mama. What is he talking about? You have cancer? Why don’t you want treatment?” The flat of his hand slams on the table making the dishes jump as high as we do.

“Don’t talk to me that way young man. I’m still your mother no matter how old you are.”

“Then don’t act like you want to kill yourself. Act like you want a life. Like you want to see your grandchildren.” Hutch pushes his plate away, turns his chair to the side.

“Grandchildren? I don’t see any.” She pretends to gaze around the room.

“Don’t be silly. We still need to discuss things, but they could be in our future.”

“I don’t see any reason for all the sickness to come. I’m old just let me die.”

“Mama you’re only sixty-three. Young yet.” He yells, his voice strained. Bangs his fist on the table.

“I don’t feel young. I feel old. My joints ache. I can’t do anything anymore. I get tired already. What’s it going to be like with the poisonous fluid inside me.” Tears flow through her words makes me want to cry with her. I get up going over to her, but she turns her face and body away.

“I can hire someone to help you. Housekeeper. Whatever you need.” His voice chokes the words out, pleading.

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