Any time she thought about home, she wanted to run fast and hard in another direction. By the time she got home, her mother would be dead to the world on the sofa, television blaring and the rank odor of beer permeated the living room. Most likely there’d be a half-finished beer sitting on the floor beside her mother’s favorite rump sprung chair and often, pooled on the floor, spilled. If her dad happened to be home, which wasn’t likely, he’d reek of marijuana smoke as well as tobacco. He’d stagger home from the nearest bar on foot because he lost his license two years earlier. No one cleaned house any longer unless Tamara made an effort to clear the clutter, toss out the stacks of unread newspapers, collect the empty beer cans, and wash the mountain of dirty dishes. She did for a long time but these days, she came in, trailed around the trash to her room and left as soon as possible. Tamara had no idea why she stayed there. At twenty-four she could move out anytime and rent an apartment or a mobile home somewhere, but she’d spend almost every penny she earned keeping it up if she did.
Maybe she feared if she split her parents might kill each other or her mom might drown in her own vomit. Her dad might burn the house down with a smoldering joint or just never come back. A rare moment of longing for the old days, her childhood years when things were different rose up in her heart and the tears she stayed angry to deny burned in her eyes. A few escaped down her cheeks and she brushed them away, mad she cried. Wulfric halted and wiped them away with his big hand. As if he read her mind, he said, his voice so gentle more tears gushed out, “Don’t be so hard on your folks. They weren’t like this until Anthony crashed his bike.”
“I know,” Tamara said through a rush of pain. Her fa?ade, her defenses tumbled as she remembered her older brother. Anthony represented the best of their little family unit. He’d played football so well he earned a full ride scholarship to the state university and he’d majored in biology. In high school and then on campus, he’d been popular, a magnet for pretty girls and nice guys, people from a social strata far above the neighborhood. He pulled straight A’s every semester, worked part time at JC Penney’s in the menswear department, and dressed like someone out of GQ. Her parents were so proud of their son and Tamara, as a teenager, all but worshipped her brother. He’d never been mean to her like so many brothers she saw, and he helped her chart a plan to take her to the heights he traveled.
Everything crashed when he died five years earlier, when he took a curve on some two-lane highway in the middle of the state late at night too fast and shot off the road into a tree. Tamara would never forget the late-night visit from two highway patrol officers, who broke the news of Anthony’s immediate death with professional kindness and true compassion. With him in the mix, they’d been a family but on the night of the awful funeral home visitation for her brother, her dad had spoken terrible words. His outburst scarred Tamara’s soul and fed her anger. She couldn’t forget or forgive or even cut him slack, because he’d been drinking all afternoon. It wasn’t justified.
“If one of my kids had to die,” her dad said, eyes red and staring at her like a demon straight out of hell’s back acre, “why in the hell couldn’t it have been you and not my son?”
Tamara had walked out of the funeral home and walked, not arriving home until early morning. She might not have gone back at all, but Wulfric found her, loved her, and brought her home. From then until the day two years ago she cut him out of her life, he’d been with her through everything as both rock and lover.
His eyes scanned her face and he probably knew just what she thought. Tamara wanted to bury her face against his shoulder and weep. She yearned for his comfort and she ached with true hunger for his love. At the most vulnerable she’d been in a long time, she might reveal the truth and she didn’t want to do that. Wulfric could do better in life without her attached to his side like a Siamese twin, and so she pushed away emotion and stared at him, making her face into a blank mask.
“Wulfric, I gotta go,” she mumbled and took off running, the bag of day-old donuts still clutched in one fist. Tamara didn’t dare look back but when she reached Grandma’s porch, she snuck one glance and he stood, leaning against a utility pole like a sentinel on duty. Tamara brushed away more tears, schooled her expression toward normal hostility, and rang the doorbell.
Her grandmother opened the door, leaning on a cane, hair silver and step slower than it used to be. Anthony’s death hit her hard, too and she’d never been quite the same since. But her face brightened when she saw Tamara and she smiled. “Come in, honey. What are you doing out in this weather? I figured you’d go straight on home from the store.”
“I brought some donuts over,” Tamara said. She ignored the question because it wasn’t even really raining. “I thought you might like them with your coffee in the morning.”
“I’ll love them, Tamara. Thank you,” Grandma said. “Can you stay a few minutes so we can watch television together? I’m watching one of those reality shows about the people with all those kids.” Tamara hated the program, but she knew Wulfric must still be out there, waiting, so she tossed her head and put on her fake store smile. “Sure, Grandma,” she said. “That’d be great.”
Chapter Two