Shifting Gears (22 page)

As we pull into the drive, nothing
more than a dirt pathway from the main road all the way up to the
house, Sex on Wheels blows up dust all around us, announcing our
arrival. The house is now in sight, and Aunt Helen is standing at
the front door, waiting to greet us. At fifty-two, my father’s baby
sister is the epitome of a strong, independent woman.

Her long black hair is still tucked
into the tight bun she’s worn since I was a child, though sunlight
gleams off strands of gray, and she’s as petite as ever, with a
waist so tiny it’s as if she wears a corset. I used to joke with
her that she could’ve been an extra in
Gone with the
Wind.

The familiar smells of jasmine and
honeysuckle fill the air.

Holt turns to me. “Hmm, nice place to
grow up.”

I’m caught up in my senses, the
feelings of warmth, of love, of security this home and my aunt have
always given me. “Yes, it was. I was lucky to have her, and all
this, when Dad died.”

From the corner of my eye, I see his
face turned to me, and I’m sure I’m imagining it, but it almost
looks as if his eyes are glistening. As I reach out to let my hand
brush against the moss-filled branches, I flash back to the happy
memories I have here. I shiver, though, when I begin to think maybe
Holt is having thoughts of his own childhood.

As we get out of the car, Holt turns
and lifts the seat to let Kilo out, and he immediately bolts,
running in the direction of the pasture behind the house. Poor boy.
I know that’s something he’s been dying to do. Just run.

Aunt Helen, with an apron covering her
gingham dress—she’s been cooking, and all day I bet—bolts toward me
as if she hadn’t seen me in years instead of the four weeks since I
last came.

As she reaches me, she lunges into my
arms, hugs me tight then pulls back, taking me in with a smile.
“Honey, I do believe you’re even prettier than the last time you
came to see me. You’re glowing, sweetheart, and I can only imagine
this handsome young man here has something to do with
that!”

Dear God. Already.

She turns to Holt then and introduces
herself, giving him a hug, which, I think, shocks him, but he
doesn’t resist, putting his arms around her, embracing
her.

As she pulls away, he gives her that
delectable smile that’s enough to make anyone squirm. “Pleasure to
meet you. You’re as beautiful as Nicolette’s
description.”

She’s blushing. Yep, every fucking
woman. No matter the age, he has this effect on them. “So pleased
to meet you, my dear.” I can tell by the glimmer in her eye that
she isn’t wasting any time. We haven’t even made it in the door
yet, and she’s already naming our kids in her head.

Maybe her outspoken nature this
weekend won’t be so bad. Maybe it will scare Holt off. He
absolutely never struck me the marrying or parenthood
type.

Still, the thought of a little Holt
running around flashes in my head and makes me giggle. Oh great, I
just laughed out loud. I catch their eyes on me, watching me
intently, and my cheeks burn.

Damn it.

“Well, let’s get your bags in,” Aunt
Helen says, walking around to the trunk and reaching for my
suitcase.

Holt puts his hand on her arm to stop
her and pulls them all out himself, hauling them up to the porch,
while my admiring aunt stands back and watches. As we walk in the
door, Holt whistles for Kilo. I’m certain he isn’t coming back
anytime soon, but to my amazement, he bustles in as the screen door
closes. Yet another testament to the control that pours off this
man—that is, unless he’s smoking a cigarette...

The smell of Aunt Helen’s cooking hits
us as we walk in.

“Dear, show your— I mean, show Holt
where the bathroom is. You two get freshened up. Dinner is ready.”
She gives me another squeeze then leaves us as she makes her way to
the kitchen. Just as the door swings closed, her head pops back
out. “Oh, and your room is all made up for the two of you, if you
want to put your bags up.”

No, she didn’t. Damn it.

“Um, Holt will be stay in the guest
room downstairs, Aunt Helen.”

I don’t dare look at Holt, but I hear
him chuckle, and when Aunt Helen lets out a giggle and says, “Okay,
dear, whatever you say,” I can see right then what I’m going to be
dealing with all weekend. Great.

I grab my bags from the floor and
practically run to the stairs. As I reach the bottom step, I turn
to Holt, who’s still laughing.

“Guest room is down the hall. Bathroom
is the last door on the right.”

I don’t wait for a response as I make
my way up to my room and toss my bags across my bed. I’m halfway
back down the steps when I stop at the sight of Holt standing in
the hallway, tilting his head up to look at the school pictures
Aunt Helen has displayed along the wall.

His eyes are fixed on the picture of
me when I was fourteen, my first year here, and he traces his
finger along my face. Jesus. I don’t even have to look at that
picture to remember what I looked like. From my stringy hair that I
didn’t bother trying to fix that day, to my “animals rock” t-shirt
to my pale solemn face, that picture said it all. Trying to fit in.
Missing my daddy. Lonely.

Damn it. Should’ve thought of the
pictures. Should’ve called Aunt Helen on the way to tell her to
hide them all. She would’ve thought that was weird though, and it
would’ve forced me to share more details about Holt then I wanted
to.

I pretend not to catch Holt looking at
the pictures, stealing a glimpse at a part of me I didn’t give him
permission to see. I just about stomp down the rest of the stairs
to let him know I’m coming. He hears me and breaks away from the
wall, coming over to join me at the stairs.

He doesn’t say anything about the
pictures, and neither do I, as he wraps his arm around my lower
back and I lead him to the dining room. I shiver in delight at the
feeling of possession that overcomes me every time he touches me
there. That slight hold almost screams,
She’s mine, back the
fuck off
.

Aunt Helen has made us dinner and,
just as I thought, she must’ve been in the kitchen cooking all day
with the full spread she’s laid out for us. As promised, my
favorites are there: fried chicken, butter beans, sweet potatoes
loaded with butter, cornbread, and super sweet lemon-iced tea that
I know she had sitting out on the deck, brewing in the sun all
day.

I missed those days in the kitchen
together laughing while she taught me everything she knew about
cooking. Cass, the lucky girl, was able to enjoy Aunt Helen’s
cooking, made from my own hands, but nothing beats her cooking. It
was the best, and I’d been craving a good meal all week.

We sit down to the aged maple table
that sits in the dining room, off from the kitchen. It belonged to
my great-grandparents, and it, just like all the other furniture,
adds to the character of the house, showing its age. It’s nothing
fancy. Old, beaten, weathered even, but still very much functional
and beautiful. Adding to this home that’s full of love, happiness,
and lots of memories. That’s what I felt, coming here when Dad
died. It pulled me in instantly, protecting me.

I turn to Holt, eying him as he
silently takes in all the food covering the table. I lean over in
my chair and giggle. “You, my friend, are about to fall in
love.”

He takes his attention off the table
and turns to me with that ever-present storm brewing in his eyes.
“I think I already have.”

I almost choke on the cornbread I’m
shoving into my mouth. I look away, my cheeks and neck burning as
if someone has taken a blowtorch to me.

I’m gulping down my glass of tea as
Aunt Helen walks in, hearing my near-death experience. “What’s got
you all choked up, child?”

I can’t speak. I can’t look at Holt
either. Surely he meant he’d already fallen in love with all that
is Aunt Helen? After all, he’d said himself as we pulled up to the
house how beautiful it was. No way had he meant anything
else.

He’d never led me to believe he was in
love with me. Never. And I never risked telling him how I’d felt
about him, figuring it would scare him off. I hadn’t wanted to ruin
what we had, so I kept things simple between us. Fun.

“I just haven’t had your cooking in so
long that I was eating too fast,” I finally manage.

She exchanges a look with Holt and, I
swear, grins. Grins. What the hell? If only I’d told her how things
really went down between me and him, she wouldn’t be so quick to be
part of his fan club.

During dinner, Kilo sits right at Aunt
Helen’s feet, wagging his tail. His gaze is locked on her hands, as
she’s been sneaking him scraps of chicken and cornbread all
night.

Aunt Helen knows how much I disagree
with feeding animals table scraps, but I decide not to say anything
because I know she’s enjoying every minute of having someone to
spoil, and of course, Kilo’s loving her food being tossed his
way.

She lifts her head to gaze over at
us—I’m guessing to see if she’s been busted or not. I pretend not
to see her, and giggle under my breath. She wipes her hands clean,
takes a sip of tea, and then looks directly at Holt.

Here it comes.

I sit silently and wait for the
questioning to begin. Holt is clueless, still finishing off his
third plateful.

“So, Holt, is that your real
name?”

He looks up from his plate and must
instantly see what’s about to go down. He pushes himself away from
the table a bit, laying his napkin in his plate, looks over in my
direction with a grin and then turns back to her.

“Yes, ma’am. Short for
Holton.”

She nods at him, smiling. “So tell me,
Holton, what is it you do for a living?”

I tense up and steal a glance at him,
looking for any sign of anger, knowing I’m the only one to call him
that. It hits me then as I stare at his still relaxed face. Did his
mom call him that? Chills come over me.

“I get hired to find people.” His tone
is gentle, with no sign of annoyance. He’s entertaining my aunt.
Giving her what she wants. To know more about the father to her
grandbabies.

“What, like that Dog person on TV? I
love that show!” she says, clearly excited.

I bust out laughing, and she jerks her
head to me with a quizzical look.

“Yes, ma’am, like Dog. I just don’t
have all the sidekicks.”

“Well, that has got to be some
exciting work!”

My aunt, with her sweet, welcoming
smile, absolutely loves murder and mayhem. Hearing her, seeing how
her face has lit up, I know she wants to pick his brain, hear all
the stories I already know he isn’t going to give her.

“The thought of tracking somebody down
then going in for the kill. Bam!”

I jump at her hand slamming on the
table. Ever since that phone call with Vinnie, I’ve been on edge.
She doesn’t notice, but Holt reaches down to grab my hand, calming
me. Instantly.

“Niki, honey, have you ever gone on
one of his chases?”

Before I can answer, Holt says, “No,
ma’am, she hasn’t, and she never will. Not something I want her to
be around. The people I deal with are mostly scum. Your niece is so
far above that. She doesn’t belong down there with the trash I have
to clean up.”

I’m struggling for breath. I shove
another piece of cornbread in my mouth and look down at my plate. I
know Aunt Helen is looking at me: The burn of her stare is
blistering the side of my face and I don’t have to look to know
she’s grinning like a Cheshire cat.

Holt goes on to tell her about the
night he met Kilo and how they kind of adopted each other. I stand
as he’s still talking and start clearing off the table.

“Sweetheart, leave those for me. Sit.
Sit.” Aunt Helen gets up, walks to the cabinet in the corner of the
dining room, and pulls out a bottle of Jack Daniels.

“Now, I’m not a drinker, but my dear
husband, Vernon, he loved his Jack, God rest his soul. So on nights
when I’m feeling a little lonely, I pour myself a drink. Not
feeling so lonely tonight, but you, Holton, strike me as a man who
likes his liquor. How about the two of you go on out to the porch
and enjoy that view while I clean these dishes up.”

It hasn’t taken Holt long to figure
out you don’t say no to Aunt Helen. “Yes, ma’am.”

He whistles for Kilo as I reluctantly
lead the way to the back porch. As I swing the screen door open,
Kilo flies past me, scurrying off the porch into the
pasture.

He’s loving all this room, I can tell.
We watch and laugh as he chases the hundreds of fireflies lighting
the night sky. I walk over to the swing that’s been a fixture on
the porch my entire life. Like most everything inside, it’s old,
weathered, but still inviting. Calming.

So many nights I found myself sitting
out here, just reading and daydreaming. Daydreaming about my
future, my life, finding love. Out here now, full from Aunt Helen’s
soul-warming food, looking out at the night sky, with Kilo chasing
the dancing lights and the shadows they create through the pasture,
it’s all so peaceful, a bit nostalgic.