When I took in a breath, Mitch urged on another finger squeeze, “Look at me.”

I didn’t look at him because I was certain what I would see. And I didn’t want to see it.

But I did keep talking.

“Aunt Lulamae had been married to Bill’s Dad but they got divorced and he stuck around town. Their divorce was bitter and it was ugly. And before they split up, it was loud and their dysfunction and hatred played out for everyone in town to see, in their trailer, outside their trailer, in Mom’s trailer, in bars, on sidewalks. And after they split up, it went on just the same. Bill’s sister has another father but he didn’t even stick around to see her born. Bill had the same reputation as me and, when I was young, I felt it was the two of us against the world so I latched on because I needed somebody. As he got older, he responded differently than me to all that was happening. He was a couple of years older than me and I got caught in that because I was young and stupid. I didn’t realize that what I was doing was solidifying in everyone’s mind that I was just like Melbamae and Lulamae Hanover. But it was more. Being with Bill meant not being around them and I hated to be around them so I escaped any way I could.”

I took another sip of my drink and Mitch gave my hand another squeeze and a gentle tug.

“Mara, sweetheart, look at me,” he called softly.

I still didn’t look at him as I set my glass down and continued my story.

“It was Lynette who saved me, her and her parents. All through senior year she told me I had to get away but I knew in my heart I’d never get away. I knew I was destined to have some crappy job making just above minimum wage and living in a trailer, just like my Mom, just like Aunt Lulamae. And I’d live in that town knowing everyone looked down on me. But for graduation, Lynette’s parents gave me an old car but it was one that worked really well because Lynette’s uncle was a mechanic and they also gave me a thousand dollars.”

My eyes slid across his face so fast I couldn’t register his expression and I kept on going but in a whisper.

“It was a nice thing to do. No one had ever been that nice to me, that generous. The tank was filled up, they had a cooler in it filled with pop, made up sandwiches in Ziploc bags and candy bars and Lynette, her Dad and Mom told me to get in that car and go. So I packed up everything I owned, some clothes, my music, that was everything I owned, and I drove. I got on I-80 and headed west. The minute I hit Denver, the second I saw the Front Range, I knew this was the place for me. The city was huge, no one here knew me and the mountains were beautiful and I wanted to see that beauty every day. I didn’t have much beauty in my life so it seemed a good idea to be somewhere that I could see beauty every day. So I stayed.” I sucked in a deep breath and ended my story with, “And, since you looked into me, you know the rest.”

“Did any of those boys who thought you were easy hurt you?” Mitch asked gently and I chanced a glance at him to see he looked his usual alert but otherwise his face was studiously blank.

“In the way you’re thinking, no. But it got physical, that physical was unpleasant but mostly it was what they said to me, the way they looked at me and the way they talked about me afterwards that was not nice. The girls did it too and girls can be way more not nice than boys could ever hope to be.”

“Did your Mom look out for you at all?”

I shrugged. “It would have been better if she thought of me as just an annoying drain on her meager resources but she didn’t. She thought I thought I was too big for my britches and told me so, repeatedly. She thought I was uppity and told me that too. I got good grades but she didn’t think that was something to be proud of. She made fun of me. She had a lot of boyfriends who were really just fuck buddies and she made fun of me in front of them too. When I got older and her special friends realized I was no longer a girl but a girl, they got ideas. Sometimes they acted on them. This ticked her off and then she started to see me as competition. She didn’t protect me from them, she shouted at me, called me a slut then she’d call me a tease. I couldn’t win either way.” I shrugged again and looked away when Mitch’s eyes darkened and not in a sexy way, in an angry way. “I used to slip out at night, especially if she had someone over or she had a lot of someone’s over and she was partying. I’d go to Bill’s trailer, sleep on the floor by his bed or go to Lynette’s. She had a double bed. I thought her bed was huge.” I pulled in a short breath, let it out on a soft sigh and whispered, “I loved her bed.” Then I blinked, pulled myself together and kept talking, “I used to climb in her window. Her parents knew I was doing it but they never said a thing.”

“Let’s go back to the men in your mother’s life trying it on with you,” Mitch demanded in a careful way and I looked back at him.

“It wasn’t that, Mitch. I wasn’t violated or not completely,” I told him without a hint of emotion. “They’d come in my room, be handsy but they were usually drunk or high so I’d get away. Then I learned to get away earlier so they didn’t even get to take a shot. Some of them were even nice. Some of them, I think, knew what it was like being Melbamae’s daughter. A couple of them tried to be like dads to me.” I shook my head and looked away, muttering, “Melbamae hated that most of all.”

I grabbed my drink and took the last sip, setting the glass down and staring at the floor beside our table. Through this, Mitch didn’t speak. Through all of it, Mitch kept hold of my hand. When it hit me he wasn’t talking, just sitting there holding my hand, my eyes drifted to his.

The instant they did, he asked, “You do know she isn’t you?”

“I know,” I whispered.

“And you know that isn’t your life and it really never was.”

I pressed my lips together and shrugged again. My eyes started to slide away but Mitch’s fingers tensed in mine to the point where it almost hurt. It definitely caught my attention. At the same time his hand gave mine a rough jerk, pulling it toward him which meant I had no choice but to lean in and my eyes flew back to his.

“I don’t understand how your mind works, baby,” he said softly, also leaning into me. “How you twist shit around but that was not your life then and it isn’t your life now. Instead of you sitting there looking at anything but me, thinkin’ I’m gonna judge you for shit that was never in your control, you should be sitting there proud in the knowledge that you got the fuck out and made somethin’ of yourself, made somethin’ of your life.”

“I –”

He shook his head, his fingers tensed even deeper in mine and I clamped my mouth shut.

“I’ve told you this before and I’ll say it again. In my job I see a lotta shit, a lot, and it is rare, Mara, unbelievably, fuckin’ rare that any kid is born to a life like yours and has the strength to get the fuck out and make something of themselves.”

“I sell beds, Mitch,” I reminded him. “I’m not the president of the free world. I don’t even have a college education.”

“Who cares?” he asked back, quick as a flash.

“I don’t own a house.”

“Neither do I,” he pointed out.

Hmm. This was true.

“Do you know who your father is?” I asked and his eyes flared.

“Yeah, and you’re gonna know him too because you’re gonna meet him.”

I shook my head. “Don’t you see, Mitch? I don’t even know who my father is.”

“Again, honey, that says nothin’ about you. Again, you were born to that. You didn’t take that away from yourself. Your mother took it away from you.”

I tried a different strategy. “Do you have a college education?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he answered and my eyes started sliding away again.

That got my hand another jerk.

“Eyes back to me,” he growled in a way my eyes went back to him. “Me havin’ a college degree means I live in a different zone than you?”

“And your mother wears twinsets,” I reminded him.

He blinked. Then he stared at me.

Then he shook his head and his lips twitched before he said, “Sweetheart, do you not see that shit’s whacked?”

“No,” I pointed out the obvious.

“Well, it’s whacked,” he returned.

I leaned deeper toward him and looked him straight in his fathomless, beautiful eyes.

“Two weeks ago, you walked through a window to my world and you lost your mind, Mitch. You took one look at Bill and the state of Billy and Billie’s lives and you lost your mind. That is my family. That is my life. And you don’t understand this because it isn’t your life but there is no way to escape it. There is no way. Because it haunts you. It’s your cousin in jail and facing prison if he survives to his trial. It’s his kids in your house, one worried about her Daddy when he’s done nothing to deserve it, the other worried about everything when he should be worried about getting to the next level on some video game. It knocks on your door and shouts the unit down so your neighbor has to confront it in the breezeway. It’s a beautiful, kind man looking into you and finding you have a juvie file. It never goes away. It’s always there. It isn’t history. It’s in my blood. It’s me.”

“No, Mara, two weeks ago, I walked into your cousin’s house. I did this after I had dinner with a beautiful woman and two really good kids and I lost my mind because that assclown didn’t give a fuck that his kids ran away and hadn’t had anything to eat all day. His house was a disaster and he was drunk and stoned and he didn’t even flinch when his kids saw him that way. I lost my mind because their clothes didn’t fit and their shoes were comin’ apart and he had vodka and smack and smokes. And I lost my mind because he didn’t apologize to you that you had to drop everything and look out for his kids and you did it in a way that I knew you were a practiced hand and I knew you were a practiced hand because he’s an assclown.”

I stared at him as he lifted our hands, unlaced our fingers but kept hold of my hand, tight, palm to palm, fingers wrapped around and his eyes locked with mine.

“But it was three and a half weeks ago I walked into your world. A clean apartment, nice furniture, flowers on your bedspread and I found out you only own a hammer. I found out you have no clue that men buy mattresses and beds from you because you wear tight skirts that show off your great ass. Because you got legs that go on forever. Because you pin up your hair and all this makes them stand by beds and mattresses and they buy them from you because all they’re thinkin’ is that they want you with your hair down, their hands on your ass and those legs wrapped around them in that bed with them. That bed could be made of nails and they wouldn’t give a fuck. They’re all about buyin’ a fantasy and you rake in your commission but have no fucking clue.”

Ohmigod. Did he seriously think that was true?

“Mitch –”

“And I found out you have great taste in music and the reason you’d barely look at me for four years is that you’re pathologically shy.”

“Mitch –”

“And it’s cute.”

“Please, Mitch –”

“And this was great fuckin’ news because you bein’ shy meant you were into me which meant I finally was open to make a play.”

“Stop it,” I whispered.

“But it was seein’ those two kids respond to you and how you responded to them that made me understand it was worth the effort to take on what I knew would be the frustrating task of extracting your head outta your ass.”

“Stop it.” This time I said those two words on a hiss.

“I already knew you looked great in shorts, great in a bikini, you were a great cook, worked hard and your friends love to spend time with you.”

All thoughts flew from my head and I blinked at him, mortified. “You’ve seen me in a bikini?”

He ignored me. “So I made my play.”

“When have you seen me in a bikini?”

“And now we’re gonna make a deal.”

I blinked again and stiffened. “What deal?”

“We’re gonna go back to the place I got you this last week. You’re gonna loosen up, come out of your cocoon, for good this time, and give me a shot. And I’m gonna take that shot and use it to convince you that you are not what you think you are but instead what everyone else knows you to be.”

I yanked at my hand in his but he only held on stronger.

“Let my hand go,” I requested on a demand.

“No,” he denied. “Agree to the deal.”

I stared at him then reminded him, “You do know that you taking that shot comes with two kids, a fucked up cousin who has the Russian mob after him and whatever Mom and Lulamae dream up. They might be functional alcoholics and over the years they may have killed an alarming number of brain cells through a variety of mood-altering methods but when they’re on a tear, it can get ugly,” I paused, “or, uglier.”