Dust Eva Everson (story reading txt) 📖

the food of God,” he said. “I swear, if I get to the Pearly Gates and I don’t smell pizza coming from some nice little Italian eatery around the corner, I’m turning around.”

“Sure you will.” She took another sip, then pointed to him. “And if my brother-in-law ever heard such blasphemy, he’d condemn you to …” she turned her finger now in the direction of the floor. “You know… the other place.”

Kyle reached for his own drink and took a swallow. “Your brother-in-law, huh?”

Cindie nodded as she eased back on the sofa. Arranged herself by tucking one foot under the back of her knee and angling toward her roommate. “He’s a preacher. The hellfire-and-brimstone kind. I stay with him and my sister Velma—his wife—whenever I go home.”

Kyle jutted his chin toward her. “Not your parents?”

“My father and mother divorced years ago. I lived with Mama until I moved up here. For a while … for a while I stayed with her whenever I went home, but she’s sort of … well, she’s a miserable person. About a year and a half ago, right after one of the worst fights ever recorded in the history of mothers and daughters, I decided that from then on, I’d stay with Velma when I went home.” She took another sip of her drink before returning it to the table. “Which means enduring weekends with Vernon and his preaching.”

“Velma and Vernon?”

“I know,” she laughed. “What is it about living in the South? We think we have to name our kids so their names go together—like Karen and Kyle—” she said with a wink, “and if not that, we make sure we marry someone whose name is close enough to our own.”

“Like Velma and Vernon.”

“And Jacko and Jasmine,” she offered, even though she knew he wouldn’t know who they were.

“Jacko?”

“His name’s Jack—that’s my brother—but we’ve always called him Jacko. He’s the one whose wife—Jasmine—just had a baby.”

Kyle leaned back until his body formed a funny S and his neck rested against the curve of the sofa’s cushion. “So, what about you?”

Heat rose in her, then quietly dissipated. “Me?”

“Any fellas out there named Cameron?”

“Cameron?”

“Or …” He chuckled easily. “Give me a sec. I’m trying to think of C names.”

“Clifford,” she said, falling into the game.

“Clifford? I cannot imagine you with a Clifford.”

“Wait, wait!” she said, now leaning toward him and swatting at his leg. “Calvin.”

“Oh, I know … marry Calvin Klein and we’ll get all our jeans for free.”

Cindie slipped into her sexiest voice. “Nothing comes between me and my Calvins.”

Kyle sobered then. Blinked in a way that said he just now saw her. Really, truly saw her. “Brooke Shields has nothing on you.”

Their eyes locked long enough—too long perhaps—until Cindie forced herself to laugh again, Kyle right along with her. “She has more money than me, that’s for sure.”

“More money than both of us.” He righted himself. “So, Jacko … is he the brother whose wife just had the baby.”

“Isn’t that what I said?”

He nodded, his eyes still focused on hers. “Yes, you did.” Then his brow shot up and the dimple cut through the left cheek again. “Boy or girl?”

“Girl,” she answered, grateful for the question. This was the most she’d ever talked to Kyle—strangely enough, seeing as they’d been roommates as long as they had—and she didn’t want their banter to be misunderstood. As available and adorable as he was, nothing and nobody was coming between her and Patterson. “Six pounds, one ounce. Velma says she’s like a little baby doll.”

“Is your brother older then?”

“No. Younger. Patt—” She caught herself, swallowing the name. She’d never once told a soul about her relationship with Patterson. Not even Leticia and certainly not Velma. She’d promised him that she would keep their relationship solely between them. Because it was sacred, almost. A togetherness to be treasured. “A girl I work with—Pat—says they’re just babies themselves. And I suppose they are. But …” She looked down then. Down to the newish, shaggy tan carpet that carried a few coffee stains already—mostly hers—to the base of the console where the local news had changed to national.

Pope John Paul II left Rome today, traveling to Africa … Dan Rather reported.

“But Jasmine loves my brother—in spite of his wild ways at times. And they both seem excited about the baby.”

“Babies are nice.”

“They are,” she said, now missing her own. Some days were easier than others, but the closer the time came to her seeing Michelle, the more she missed her.

“You seeing your little girl while you’re home?”

Cindie nodded. “Of course.”

“Think you’ll ever have another one?”

Cindie blinked at the intimacy of the question, unsure how to answer. She hoped so. At least, she supposed she did. Although her plans had changed drastically since she’d left Michelle with Westley and his wife, she still wanted to get married one day. Have more children. A houseful would be nice; a chance to prove that she was a better mother than Allison. For sure a better mother than Lettie Mae ever dreamed of being. But … if she continued to see Patterson—and she couldn’t imagine that she wouldn’t—that would prove sticky. How long they could keep seeing each other the way they had, she wasn’t sure. Would she be satisfied with things as they were now? Or would she want more?

Would he?

She believed he loved her. And, goodness, how she loved him. But she also felt certain he would never leave Mary Helen. Never leave his daughters. At least, not until they were older. Maybe.

Then again, the age difference between Patterson and herself stood up and begged to be noticed. Nearly a quarter of a century. Not that she minded. She didn’t. But Patterson, having already raised his daughters, might not want more children. Gracious, if she could bide her time, and if he left Mary Helen and they got married, and if they had kids, he’d have children and grandchildren nearly the same age. But that had been done before, hadn’t it? Men could