Page 19 of Savior
For thirty years they operated the Nassau Bed and Breakfast together, and their patrons always came back because the love they had for each other showed in the way they ran their business.
After Grandpa Deacon died from cancer, which no one saw coming, I made it a habit to stop by and check on her. Once she started getting sick and moved Aunt Diane in, I gave up my shabby one-room apartment and moved into one of their available bungalows to keep a closer eye on the both of them. They practically raised me, so I considered it my duty to help them around the property when I’m able. Today that duty extends to finding out more about the woman Diane is letting rent the cabins.
The long walk clears my head somewhat, even though it’s still throbbing from the earlier abuse. The scent of crisp bacon wafts through the open screen door and I let myself in, following my stomach to the kitchen where Grandma Rose sits at the table with the newspaper. Behind her, Aunt Diane is flipping bacon in a frying pan.
I pass Grandma Rose who tilts her head up for a kiss. Obediently, I place one on her forehead and she squeezes my hand. There’s a plate of bacon next to the stove so I nip a piece and take a bite before Aunt Diane has the chance to slap my hand away.
“Boy, if you don’t keep your hands out of my food,” she warns, spatula raised like a threat.
“You could never hit me.” I grin at her and she shakes the spatula.
“Just try me.”
Hedging my luck, I turn and fill a cup with coffee from the waiting pot on the counter. “Even when I came home at sixteen thinkin’ I got Jenny Anderson pregnant you didn’t raise a hand to me.”
Aunt Diane snorts. “Maybe I should have. If I’d been an advocate for corporeal punishment, maybe you wouldn’t already be divorced.”
I take a sip of coffee, opting to burn my tongue instead of having to answer. My marriage to, and divorce from, my wife is a spot of contention for both of us. We’d gotten married when we were both too young and too stupid to know better. Aunt Diane has always refrained from saying the actual words “I told you so”, but I don’t need to be a cop to detect the meaning behind her animosity.
The tense moment passes and I take another casual draw from my coffee cup. “Saw you rented out the cabin next to mine.”
“Yes,” she says succinctly. I wait for her to elaborate, but she doesn’t. Woman wouldn’t even crack under the most experienced interrogator.
“Were you going to tell me?”
She snorts as she plates the rest of the bacon. Then she crosses to the other counter to drain most of the grease for eggs in the little canister she keeps hidden behind the toaster. “And let you scare the poor girl away? I don’t think so.”
“I wouldn’t scare her away.” She levels a look at me. “Fine, but you can’t take in every stray.”
“I wish I would have taken that advice when I took you in sixteen years ago. Would have saved me a hell of a lot of trouble.”
“I’m serious, Aunt Diane.” My firm tone doesn’t even cause her to turn from the task of cracking eggs into the pan.
She merely turns to me and pats my cheek. “You worry too much.”
“And you don’t worry enough.”
As the eggs sizzle, she pulls out silverware from a drawer to her right, and I take out plates from the cabinet and set them on the counter. Grandma Rose winks up at me as she settles in to work on the crossword puzzle. She’s heard these arguments a million times over and likes to watch us go at each other’s throats. She told me once it replaced her soaps for entertainment.
I take my seat next to her on a wooden stool and Diane sets a plate of eggs and bacon down in front me. I’d spent most of my life at her counter. She doled out punishments, advice, and food in equal measure and is more a mom to me than my own.
“Maybe I should run her background just in case. Did you at least check her references? Have her fill out an application?”
Aunt Diane points her spatula at me, grease dripping onto her pristine floor. “You’ll do no such thing Logan Elias Blackwell.”
I polish off a piece of bacon and then reach for another, but Grandma Rose steals it from my plate with a cackle. “There’s something off about her. Did you know she carries a gun?”
Diane just laughs. “You’d say the same thing about Mother Theresa if she moved next door. Besides, I suspect whatever is ‘off’ about her has more to do with what’s in your pants than whatever is in her past. Besides, what young, single girl doesn’t carry a gun in the south?”
Wincing, I push away my empty plate. “Low blow.”
She takes my empty dish to soak in soapy water in the sink. “Always knew how to shut that mouth of yours.”
I stand and round the counter and move up behind her as she reaches for a sponge to wash the dishes. She barely reaches my chin, but she’s just tall enough for me to rest it on her head. The mop of curly dark hair tickles my chin. If I were to delve my fingers into it, I’d find the raised line of a four-inch scar I could have saved her from.
When I speak next, it’s soft. “I just want to protect the most important women in my life. Can’t you let me do that?”
She sets down the soapy dish in the other side of the sink and grabs a kitchen towel to wipe her hands. Then she turns to me with a patient smile, which makes me scowl down at her. Hands dry, she reaches up to cup my cheek. “Sweet boy, you have nothing to worry about. For now, if you go pestering that girl, it’ll be a different story.”