Page 28 of Miles. Alton & The 9:04 (Modern Mail Order Brides #19)

T hom Brown sat in his office staring at the wall, in a mental tussle with his emotions.

He was married to a lovely woman he hadn’t thought would be able to cook, but each day she was making him amazing meals.

Concern covered him in the idea she may have been compensating for her own emotions and the rapid changes in her life.

He also ruefully admitted the barefoot thing and taking the pie out of the oven turned him on like someone had stuck a cattle prod in his nethers and every nerve came alive.

“Hey,” Jiminy said, walking into the office. “How ya doing? You seem to be worlds away.”

“In my own head, I guess,” Thom said.

“Yeah, married. How's that going?”

“Actually, very well.”

“That's nice,” Jiminy said. “Hey. I was wondering. You know, Megan and all. She's been so sweet with the whole Petr thing and keeping me company. Would it be weird if I dated her? I mean, if it's okay with you.”

“Jiminy, I have no say and no stake in the woman's life, other than making sure she is safe and coming to no harm,” Thom said. “Is she interested in you like that, or are you taking advantage of easy pickings?”

“Hey. Hey. You know me better than that,” Jiminy said.

“No, I don't,” Thom said. “I have known men I thought were the salt of the earth who turned into monsters when they got a steady woman in their life whom they wanted to rule.

Other men, who I thought would be the most stand-up people in the world, start drinking in bars and moving in to prey on inebriated ladies.

So no, I don't. Again, is she interested, or are you taking advantage?”

“I dunno, when you put it like that,” Jiminy said, frowning. “We get on and have been spending time together and stuff. I was gonna ask her to the movies and to get an ice cream afterwards to get her out of the house, but now I'm wondering if...never mind.”

“Jiminy, ask. If she says yes, then fine,” Thom replied. “Is she settling in okay? Does she need anything?”

“If she needs anything, I'll make sure she gets it,” Jiminy said defensively. “You made your choice and have a wife. I'll take care of Megan.”

Thom held up his hands. Rising slowly, he was preparing to head home.

There was a conversation he also needed to have today with his wife, and he wasn't sure how to approach the subject, but he'd figure it out.

He bid a good night to Jiminy, turning over his shift to the night manager, and he waved to Pearlie Mae as he made his way to his vehicle.

The fifteen-mile drive to his home filled him with so many emotions that he didn't know where to start. Curiosity made him wonder what she was cooking for supper and what new touches she'd added to the house.

“Budget, we have to talk budget,” he said, turning down the long gravel drive to his home. It was a nice home with a wide front porch with rocking chairs, a quaint home with a large back deck and Adirondack chairs that were half eaten by a flipping porcupine. A sweet home with a lovely wife.

Thom parked his vehicle in the carport since her Audi was in his spot in the garage. The Subaru was also in the carport since it was what she'd been using to dash about town. They needed to talk about that as well.

He entered the back door to the smell of freshly baked bread.

Chicken and rice in a red sauce, and peas drizzled in butter sat on the stove.

Everything in his mind went out the window when he walked into the living room to find her sitting in one of the chairs by the window, reading.

Mae looked up at him and smiled. The smile was bright and so wide, Thom swallowed hard.

“Hey, did you have a good day?” she asked, grinning at him.

“I did, and your day?”

“Absolutely lovely,” she told him. “I hope you're hungry. My basil was looking a little droopy, so I made chicken and basil with rice and tomatoes. I found some peas in the freezer as well. I may need to go grocery shop tomorrow.”

“Do I need to leave you any cash or my card?”

“Thom, I have a few bucks,” she said, winking at him. “Go wash up while I prepare the table.”

When he returned from the bathroom, soft music was playing, and she waited at the table for him to join her for the meal. She was still smiling when he blessed the food and tasted the chicken.

“It's good, isn't it?”

“Yeah, it is,” he said, looking at her. She was still smiling. “Mae, are you okay?”

“Yes, I am. I'm very good, Thom,” she said, smiling at him.

“Okay, the smiling thing is throwing me off. Help me understand what is happening in that beautiful head of yours,” he said softly. “You're not chasing fairies, are you?”

She pointed at a plant near the window. “That is my lemon tree. I grew it from a lemon I purchased at the store a last year. Most of those plants are vegetables,” she told him.

“I knew some were herbs, but I never looked closely at the others,” he said.

“I've always wanted to live in the country and have a big garden,” she said to him. “Life, however, pushed me in a different direction.”

“How so?”

“My folks wanted all their kids to go to college,” she began explaining.

Mae spoke of her brother starting college but not finishing, dropping out to support his now wife.

She told him of her sister who hated to read and despised books and married an equally ignorant man who got his news from social media.

“The family success all hinged on me. I had to go to college to uphold my parent’s dream. I majored in engineering.”

“Your undergrad?”

“Yes,” she said. “My Dad talked a great deal about Edwina Justice. Ah, by the look on your face you know who she is, the first black woman locomotive engineer for Union Pacific. I wanted to follow in her footsteps and make my own history. I trained, tested and became a locomotive engineer, but the sounds of the engines were messing with my hearing, so I went to grad school to get my MBA.”

“You went to Northwestern, right?”

“Yep, the Kellogg School of Business, top of my class, and it's where I met Kylie Stanhope,” she said.

“Of those Stanhopes?”

“One and the same,” Mae replied. “We got stuck on a project together for class.

She liked my energy and pulled me into a philanthropy project her mother was working on.

What they paid me to help took care of my tuition for the next two semesters, and that's how it began.

She dragged me to lunch at “The Club” and introduced me to Clyde Walker, the CFO of the company.

And suddenly, I had a job I didn't ask for.”

“Did you like the job, I mean, until everything started going sour?”

“Thom, can you imagine showing up to work every day and you're the only white guy?” she asked to his surprised face.

“Yeah, that was me. I was the only black person, outside of the housekeeper on the 11th floor.

You can't even begin to imagine the things said to me or the men on other floors who assumed I was doing something sexual to keep the job. I built my team with one Black male and one Asian male, a Hispanic woman, and my assistant Rosemary, and a redhead and a blond.”

“Very specific,” he said.

“Intentionally,” she told him. “Imagine every single day having to move with so much intention. Meetings, reporting, board meetings to justify my job or my spending, and sometimes having to qualify or quantify my blackness not being a detriment to me doing the job. Every mutherfucking day. As smart as I am, as much as I had accomplished, I was having to justify myself to some guy named Chad whose uncle got him the job. I hated it.”

“Okay, I was worried that maybe you were compensating with the cooking and stuff,” he said, feeling stupid for the words coming out of his mouth. “Just no shellfish, please.”

“I get it, but I want you to know, I love cooking,” she said.

“My folks think a fried pork chop with greens simmered in pork fat in healthy eating. No one wanted to eat my cooking and now I get to make the stuff I like, and you like it, and I get to have my garden. I get to live in a house close to the country with a big ass garden.”

Mae was smiling at him again. The twinkle in her eye made Thom bite his bottom lip. The last time she had looked at him like that, he’d nearly thrown his back out. She was in a good head space and it all felt...right.

“I want to go in that garage thing and look at the tractor,” she told him. “I want to start tilling the ground and planting. I have no idea how to can or pickle or ferment, but dammit, I'm going to learn.”

“The tractor is pretty big, Mary,” he told her. “It has attachments to mow down those big fields as well as a tiller. Let me work on the garden this weekend, and we will get it started.”

In the other room, her phone beeped. He'd noticed that at spaced intervals the beeping happened. He wondered if they were time stamps. “What is the beeping on your phone?”

“Voice messages, emails, job offers,” she told him.

Thom arched his eyebrows. “What?” she asked. “I told you they'd come for me since I am very good at what I do.”

“Do you still want to do that type of work, Mary?”

She was smiling at him again. She began to twirl the end of her hair; she wanted something. He knew what that look meant, and he sat waiting.

“You know what I really want to do? I want to start a YouTube channel and call it At Home with Mary ,” she said, smiling at him.

“I could monetize it, get subscriptions and have people spend some time with me in my garden.

As I learn to can, I can show them. I can make videos of me living the life I've always wanted to live, decorating my home and finding great deals, here in this delightful house with you.”

Thom liked the idea and smiled as well. “You’ve seemed to have found a wellspring of joy with this life with your garden. I hope you are truly pleased to be here with me and share this world I’m trying to create for us to raise a family.”