The Odd Ballerz (36 page)

“I know,” Z said.

“Alex left home after her mother passed. They all responded to their parents’ deaths differently. Memphis became the leader. She and Charlotte have that in common, but Memphis is the one that really took charge. Charlotte—that’s my wife—is a little less serious than her big sister, but not by much.

“Alex quit high school, like Memphis, the wild child of the three. It was drugs and bad boys, and she was lost for a while,” he said, looking over at Z, trying to gauge how much to tell. “She returned with nothing but the clothes on her back, and a whole lot wiser. Snuck away while the last douche was at work. The same one that shot himself today and that would have taken her if she hadn’t gotten away. Sorry for speaking bad of the dead, but this way it doesn’t drag on, you know, always looking over her shoulder.”

“Yep,” Z said.

“She lived with Memphis for a while, before they thought it was safe enough to live on her own. Couldn’t hide forever was Alex’s argument, ’cause of course Memphis didn’t want her to leave. That’s when they made this bet. Alex would get it together, get her GED, find a job and Memphis would take on something that was difficult for her. She lost the bet as you know, and the rest is history. You know this?”

“I know this.”

“Dad was a musician, died of pancreatic cancer, and their mother eventually committed suicide,” he said, looking over at Z. “You know this, too?”

“I know this, too,” he said.

Joshua smiled. “I’m impressed. Memphis doesn’t usually share her story with anyone, and you’re not even a brother,” he said, laughing.

Z didn’t reply, figuring it was best not to, and he didn’t have a response anyway. Really, what was he supposed to say to that?

“Charlotte and I attended the same college and have four kids now. Memphis did well financially in the insurance selling business and was able to help with her sister’s tuition. Did you know that?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“So now you heard the complete history of the Jones women,” he said, looking over at Z. “I love them all; Charlotte, of course, but the others are my sisters too. I try to look out for them, as much as they allow.”

“That’s good,” Z said.

“So M might work for you?” Joshua asked.

“She might,” Z said, meeting Joshua’s eyes. Clearly able to handle himself was Joshua’s takeaway. He smiled and changed the subject then, having settled his internal question as to how serious to take this dude that was interested in Memphis.
Very
was the answer.

“So, how are the Ballerz looking for next season?” he asked, changing the subject to something a little less serious. “Charlotte and I made every home game last year.”

“True fans, huh,” Z said, and smiled. “I’m not sure, it’s a rebuilding year,” and the conversation moved on to football, men and women’s. Thirty minutes flew by and Joshua was letting Z out near his gate, which was locked. It was dark, but the light on the porch of his home was on. He’d sent Meredith a text earlier and she’d taken care of everything.

“Thanks for the ride,” Z said, standing beside the driver’s door.

“No problem,” Joshua said. Joshua extended his fist and Z bumped it with his. He turned his car around, and it was back to check on the Jones women, and it looked like he might have a little help with that in the future. He smiled.

# # #

Saturday

Z and Meredith arrived at the restaurant about nine the following morning. They had worked late into the night after he’d returned home from the hospital to make sure everything was ready for delivery. A celebratory dinner of not much, since he hadn’t had time to grocery shop during what was turning out to be a very eventful week. Dinner had been followed by bed. Meredith went to hers in her trailer out back, and he to his alone with his thoughts of Jones.

# # #

Saturday night

“So was that your old boyfriend, the one that put you in here?” Aarik asked, sitting in the chair beside Alex’s hospital bed.

“Yes. He and others like him were the reason I came home, tired of that life,” she said.

“What life is that?” he asked.

“The life of being afraid, of looking over my shoulder,” she said, and told him the things she’d told Z and a few of the things she hadn’t.

“So that’s the reason you’ve sworn off men?” he said at the end of her tale, meeting her eyes.

“Yes. No more, not until I’ve learned to tell the good from the bad. Not until I only want to live with the good.”

“A work in progress is what you are,” he said.

“Yes, I am,” she said, meeting his eyes. There were buckets of compassion in his eyes, with a hint of steel behind them. “So what’s your story? What happened to Anson’s mother… your wife?”

“An abuser like yours,” he said.

“What?”

“Women abuse too. Not as much as men, but they do,” he said, his smile sad. “I was trained not to hit women, and she was trained
to
hit men,” he said, looking away, his gaze turned inward, she guessed.

He shook his head as if to clear it. “She loved drama, grew up with it. Had a mother that loved it. From a baby, she was fed it daily, thought it was normal; hell, it was normal in her world. Seeing it, hearing it, life was boring without it. No chance to learn different.

“Now, how or why I found it cute, and not the dysfunction that it was, was the part I played in our troubles. Thought it was a sign that she truly loved me. Big fights, spectacular sex afterward. Craziness. She was jealous of other women and I believed that it was love that made her do those things, that made her want to fight for me, and looking back at it now, it was just crazy and drama and not good for long term living and I had to let it go, had to let her go, especially after Anson was born. Asked her to see a counselor, thought she could change, thought I could change her. We joined church, anything I thought to do that might help, and it didn’t, and what once I could tolerate, I no longer wanted to. I never should have.

“Anson saw us one day. The only good that came from that scene was having me see the hurt in his eyes at us fighting again, and that was the end of it for me. She was hitting me and I did what I had always done, which was to somehow try to contain her. It didn’t work, never had worked really. What kind of man was I teaching him to be,” he said, meeting her gaze now. “I let her go and it was easier than I thought it would be, a relief really,” he said, extending his right hand to her. “So, you’re not alone. I’ve been there too.”

“Where is she now?” Alex said, opening her fingers to twine with his.

“Around. Sees her son, but not as often as I’d like, but what can you do?” he said.

“Nothing, I guess,” she said, and it was quiet between them, her hand in his.

“So it’s moving on. For you too?” he said, meeting her eyes. She smiled at the strength in the pair staring back at her.

“Yes, me too. Moving on too,” she said, and smiled.

Sunday morning

Z
stood on the his front porch, waving goodbye to Meredith as she made the turn out of his drive, on her way back home, dragging her silver Airstream trailer behind her. It had been up early for breakfast, followed by lots of goodbyes and well wishes and one of those well wishes was meant specifically for Jones, she said, wearing her know-it-all grin

His cell made that ding, notification of an incoming text. He removed it from his back pocket to check. It was from Aubrey. None of her texts had he responded to and he would do the same with this one. He was past thinking she would take the hint and stop.

I’m in Bastrop today and I might stop by
, he read before he slid his phone back into his pocket, and as soon as he did, it gave off its familiar ding again.

This time the text was from Jones, whom he had not heard from since Friday night.
I’m at the hospital today. Alex is going home Monday.
Yeah!
I’ll see you as soon as Alex is settled in at Charlotte’s, Wednesday if all goes well
.

Okay
he typed in response. However she would see him sooner than that. He decided.

# # #

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Alex said, sitting up in her hospital bed. Z stood at the foot of it, later on that morning, a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

“Checking in on my starting quarterback,” he said.

“And you brought me flowers. Awww.” she said, smiling.

“Not that you needed it,” he said, glancing around the room at the many bouquets that were abundantly scattered about. “Someone has an admirer,” he said, and immediately regretted his choice of words. “I meant…” he began.

“No explanation needed. I do. A nice guy, one of the nurses here. I’ve been helping him coach his son’s Pop Warner team,” she said.

“I heard. Your sister told me. You’re getting out tomorrow.”

“Yes, and you just missed her. She went home to give me a break. Worry, thy name is Memphis, and the reason I was reluctant to tell her anything. She would have parked outside my apartment, or worse, moved in with me,” she said, chuckling sadly at the end. “Anyway, I’m alive and very thankful to be so.”

“Good.”

“Thanks for driving her over. Can’t have her running off the road in her desire to reach her baby,” Alex said.

“The big sister.”

“Always. More like mother. She was to both Charlotte and me, although she doesn’t want you to think so. Took care of us, made sure we had what we needed. You’d think that would have been enough, that losing our parents and her filling in would have made me thankful enough to get my life together.”

He smiled, but remained silent.

“It didn’t. Poor Memphis. I gave her fits.”

“She’s proud of you,” Z said.

“She’s proud of me
now
.
I’m
proud of me now,” she said and smiled. “She’s proud of you too. I heard about you, sticking around, staying with her. You’d better be careful or she’ll think you care about her.”

“I like your sister. As a friend, yes, but it’s more than that now. I wanted to make sure, given last year and all,” he said, meeting her eyes.

“Seriously?”

“Yes, thought you should know, didn’t want you to think she was some game. She isn’t.”

“Does she know?”

“A little. It’s slow for me too; taking my time, watching, as you’ve done with the nurse,” he said.

She smiled. “I know. He’s different too, and worth taking a serious look at.”

“So where does your sister live?” he asked.

“Going to check on her, are you? Good, it’s about time she had someone to look after her,” she said, before rattling off M’s address. “See you soon.”

“Yep,” he said.

# # #

Jones’s neighborhood was a mix of old homes torn down and replaced with much larger ones, located in one of the many suburbs of Austin where the cost of houses was slightly less expensive than the city. Anyway you looked at it, purchasing a home in Austin and its surrounding areas had turned into an expensive proposition. It was the reason he lived in Bastrop, along with his desire for space.

He found her home, the fourth house on the left, one of the older ones on the street, painted a light blue, with a small porch. Small home, neatly cut grass, and basic shrubbery in the two front beds. He pulled into the drive, parking beside her Xterra.

He was here to check on her, as he’d told Alex, but it wasn’t the only reason he wanted to see her, just the main one. He knocked and she opened the door wide, stood in the middle of the doorway, dressed in home gear that delightfully showed off some of her best assets. Legs shapely in leggings, a patch of smooth brown skin between where the leggings ended and the short top she wore. Two flawless breasts rounded out her upper body. She wore her hair down, natural, and he knew what that meant now, loved that about her too.

“Hi,” she said, nervous, staring back at him. He’d come for her, to check on her, she thought, and thanked Alex internally for her call in warning. She had hopped in the shower and had time to do something with her hair before he’d arrived. “Come in. This is a surprise,” she said.

“I’m surprised Alex didn’t call to warn you.”

“She did,” Jones said, chuckling. “Welcome to my home. And it’s still a surprise,” she said.

“Nice house, Jones,” he said, using her favorite word. He stepped inside, scanning her home quickly, interested but not really. It was not that much different from his, before the remodel anyway. One big room was the living room behind her. Neat and clean and comfy, the big sofa and loveseat, ecru in color, sat before a fireplace. The kitchen was small and to the right of the front door. He guessed her bedrooms and bath were down the hall to his left.

“I was making breakfast, would you like to join me? It’s nothing like what you’d cook, but it won’t kill you,” she said.

“There’s an offer I can’t refuse,” he said, chuckling. He followed her into the kitchen, a narrow space of two counters to the right and left of him that opened into a wider oval space where the kitchen table sat.

“I was just about to make an omelet. And now that you’re here, you can take over. You’re hungry, I hope.”

“I could eat.”

“Good, I’ll get us more eggs,” she said, turning to the refrigerator, pulling out the carton and setting it beside the bowl on the counter, watching as he finished washing his hands. He leaned over and kissed her, a quick touching of lips, his hand resting at her waist, holding her in place.

“You alright?” he asked, meeting her eyes now. Serious he was, she could tell. Something inside warmed at his question. She could so get used to having a strong and caring man near.

“I am,” she said, gazing into his eyes. He’d surprised her again, and he so wanted to laugh at her resistance to letting it show.

“You have anything besides eggs to go in your omelet?” he asked, looking down at the empty bowl on the counter and the carton of eggs beside it.

“Cheese?” she asked.

He smiled. “Butter would be a good start.”

“We can look and hope,” she said, chuckling. He turned to watch her rifle through her refrigerator, purging what was older—which was quite a bit—leaving a small amount of spinach and an equally limited amount of bacon and butter.