Escaping the Past

She stepped from the steaming shower onto a bath mat and rubbed the mirror clean with a towel. She dried her body with the same towel and then bent at the waist so her hair fell forward, allowing her to wrap it, turban style. She looked in the mirror and noted she looked reasonably good, even though she was still pale and tired.

She padded across the floor on bare feet and retrieved matching pajama shorts and a strappy pajama top. She unwound her hair from the towel and ran a brush through it. She looked at the hair dryer but then dismissed the idea. She decided, instead, to open the door to the portico and step out into the fresh air and let the wind blow-dry her hair.

In true antebellum style, the home had porches on both levels, and each bedroom had a separate entrance onto the porch. Outside each door sat double rocking chairs that faced the night. Lou quietly opened the door to her room and stepped out into the darkness. She chose not to turn on the porch light, preferring the glow of the moon over thousands of tiny bugs that would attack if she turned the light on. She sat down in one of the low-backed rocking chairs and hung her streaming mass of wet hair over the back so it swayed as she rocked gently. The small wind was a blessing after a hot day. The gentle motion of the rocking chair lulled her and eased some of the tension from her body. The creaking rockers on the chair sang a comforting tune. Lou closed her eyes and thought of the events of the day.

She felt like she had been rode hard and put up wet.

She had spent the day with a man who was at first accusing, then apologetic. He made her tremble, both with anger and with passion. She pressed her fingers to her lips, remembering the feel of his mouth against hers. He must think I am such a child. He had obviously had lovers before. Any idiot could tell he had experience. Unlike her, he had probably had more lovers than he had fingers and toes. She wondered if her lack of experience was obvious. It had to be. Not once, but twice, he had thrown out the bait and she took it like a starving mouse goes for rat poison. She was her mother’s daughter after all.

That thought caused the acidic taste of bile to rise up in her throat. She swallowed it back as the ramifications of her actions hit her in full force. I behaved like my mother. She let her emotions and physical desires override her good sense and she was making a fool of herself in the process.

She ground her teeth in disgust. How could I have been so stupid? He was a man, and men only wanted one thing. They wanted to use you until they stole your soul, your pride and all your dreams. How many times have I seen my mother discarded by a man over the years? More times than she could count. She would never, ever be like that. She would let him know, in no uncertain terms, that she wasn’t and would never be a whore, no matter how poor her decisions had been. She would tell him at the first opportunity.

Lou ran her fingers through her hair once more, feeling the silken threads fall between her fingers. Her hair was nearly as dry as her mouth. She rose quickly from the rocking chair and spun, opening the door to her room and letting it close not too gently behind her.

Lou crawled between the sheets with renewed determination, knowing she had to either put her foot down tomorrow or steer clear of one Dr. Broden James Wester, III.

****

Brody sat in the dark outside his own room, enjoying the peaceful evening as he tried to tidy the thoughts that ran through his mind. He tried to wade through the grief that accompanied the thoughts of his mother and her condition.

He sat in the shadows, chewing his fingernails, and was startled when he heard the sound of the door down from his opening. Lou stepped into the moonlight. She was wearing close fitting shorts and a small top that was so tight he could see her breasts jiggle slightly when she walked. They were obviously unbound but were still pert and full, her nipples pushing against the fabric in the gentle breeze.

He felt himself harden at the thought of her. Good God! He was acting like a kid with no self-control again. He could tell right off the bat Lou wasn’t as experienced as he thought when he first met her, even though she had a daughter. Her inexperienced lips meeting his told him, plain as day, about her and her hesitation. If she had known how she looked eating that ice cream cone and interpreted his thoughts, she would have run for the hills.

If the cop hadn’t shown up when he did, he would probably have stripped her right there on the table. He smiled at the thought of the cop calling them kids. He did feel like a kid again when he was with Lou, like the world was new and he wanted to explore all of it.

Her devotion to his family was unwavering. She would be at Western Skies long after he was gone. She didn’t seem to be a one-night stand kind of girl, so the best thing he could do was keep his hands to himself and try to be friends with her—nothing more.

The scent of lavender tickled his nose as she lifted her hair over the back of the rocking chair. Her pose went from relaxed to rigid. He watched the expression change on her face as she rocked on the porch. He didn’t understand the play of emotion that crossed her face but could tell she wasn’t pleased just by

the tension in her body. He was about to make his presence known and come out of the darkness to see what the problem was when she rose quickly from her rocker and stomped into the house.

The door slammed behind her.

What on earth had caused that?

Chapter Four

Chubby fingers clawed at the windowsill as banging hands slapped the front door. “We know you’re in there, Lou! We know you have it. We want to talk to you.” The banging stopped briefly and a new voice rang out—quiet, yet clear. The voice belonged to Mrs. Downy, the old lady who lived next door. “Lou, Honey, its Mrs. Downy. Why don’t you just open the door for these nice gentlemen so they can get what you owe them, dear? They have been waiting for a long time…”

The voice faded away and was replaced by angry bursts and deep, guttural curses. The walls of the trailer shook as the hands beat against the rickety frame. A baby cried in a bassinet in the corner of the room. Lou grabbed the baby from the bassinet and crawled from the carpet of the living room to the cold linoleum floor of the kitchen. She climbed into the lowest set of kitchen cabinets and closed the door behind her. She placed a finger in the baby’s mouth to keep her quiet. The baby suckled gently on her finger. She rocked her body back and forth. Was it more to comfort her or the baby? She wasn’t sure.

The door splintered as the assailants finally found their way into the home. Heavy footfalls pounded through the rooms as they ran from one end of the mobile home to the other, opening doors as they walked through the house. They stopped and looked under beds and in closets. She heard them walk into the kitchen. Her heart started to race. She jumped as the first cabinet door opened. Her startled movement scared the baby clutched against her breast, and the baby let out a pitiful wail.

The door to the cabinet where she was hiding opened slowly. The kind, old face of Mrs. Downy peered into the darkness. Before Lou’s very eyes, the kindly expression that was normally on the old woman’s face changed to one of anger and hatred. The voice still belonged to Mrs. Downy but the face wasn’t the same. “Just give them what they came for child,” she chided as she reached out and grabbed the baby from Lou’s arms with surprising agility. Lou held frantically to the child, trying to regain her grip but she was unable to hold on. A scream ripped from her throat as she realized she had failed to protect the baby.

“No! No! Nooooooooo!” she screamed.

Lou sat up straight in bed, sweat pouring from her body. Her hair was plastered to her face and sweat ran down her skin in rivulets. Her heart was pounding so fast she thought it would jump out of her chest. She scanned the room, looked through the open doorway into Sarah’s room and verified the sleeping child was still tucked safely in bed. One day, the dreams would stop, wouldn’t they?

****

The door to her room flew open with such force that it hit the wall with a thud. Brody stood in the threshold, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts. He held a baseball bat in his hand. Lou’s eyes raised and met his.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” asked Brody breathlessly, his eyes taking in the quiet state of the room where Lou had been sleeping. “Why did you scream?”

“I don’t know,” Lou stammered, clutching the comforter in front of her soaking wet body. “What did you hear?”