Innocent Milf

Chapter 38

Chapter 38

When we finally woke up the next morning, it occurred to me that my parents probably wondered where I had gone. I gave them a quick call, promised an explanation later, and then started coffee brewing for myself and Cary. She was still asleep, tangled in her sheets and smiling faintly. I noticed with a grin that she had flung her sleep shirt across the room while slumbering.

As the coffee percolated, so did some ideas in my brain. Eric had set up some sort of mailbox to steal Cary's letters to me. That meant that he had probably forged my signature and presented a fake ID at a post-office to have my mail forwarded to him. It was either expensive to maintain, or it was expensive to have somebody look after it. And he had somehow intercepted my lettersbackto Cary. That was harder to figure, since I had sent them from different places at different times.

I frowned. That meant that he was intercepting themhere. Maybe he had found a way to break into her mailbox. We needed to move quickly to catch some of the evidence, before he brought back the kids. Once the kids were back, he'd find out that Cary and I were together again. Andthatwas assuming that he hadn't kept his private investigator following either one of us.

How did he afford it? I had never hired one myself, but reading a lot of Raymond Chandler had led me to believe that P.I.'s had regular expenses and were intended to be sort of a short-term thing. It seemed like he had been having somebody follow us for years, now. Either he was way richer than I thought, or something shady was happening. Maybe both. I tucked it away for later.

Cary shuffled into her kitchen, bleary, topless, and grinning.

"Good morning, wonderful," I said, wrapping her in a hug.

She made a contended noise of mostly consonants into my chest as she hugged me back. A happy sigh was quickly followed by a sniff. "Whazzat? Coffee? Oh, you perfect man."

I didn't like coffee that much, but I had built up a tolerance for it while studying late nights, or trying to stay awake for exams in the morning. It smelled good, at least. Cary, on the other hand, seemed to have developed an addiction in our year apart. I knew that she likedsomecoffee in the morning, but to judge by the speed with which she drank it and extended her mug for more, her boobs weren't the only thing that had gotten bigger in the intervening months.

Once she was halfway through her second cup, she glanced down at her bare chest as if noticing for the first time and giggled. "Oh, my. I haven't donethatfor a little while." She scooted over against me and rubbed her shoulder against mine. "I guess I finally feel safe again."

In a backwards way, I was almost glad that she hadn't gotten my letters for the past several months, because it meant that I could tell her in person all of the things that I had wanted to. We talked aboutA Wizard of Earthseaand James Bond. I told her what it had been like to work--even temporarily-- on the handcrew as a wildland firefighter. She told me about Annie and Patrick.

Annie had been the most obviously affected by our year apart--Cary told me that she had regressed and threw tantrums and nearly had to repeat the second grade. Patrick had just gotten sullen and retreated into his room with a Super Nintendo. Apparently he was really hooked on a game about time travel. Cary said she liked the color palette. Both of them were currently on a short trip to visit Grandma and Grandpa Woodley--Eric's parents.

It bothered me to think of either of the kids as hurt by everything going on--how could they not be?--and I slowly started turning over some thoughts about how to help Cary restabilize things. Patrick would be easier--I had been a teenage boy very recently, so I might have some insight into how he thought and felt. Annie would be more of a challenge.

As I contemplated things, my thoughts turned back towards a subject that had been bothering me since last night. "You said that when you were out at Lana's birthday, you felt sort of like you had been drugged. Like when Eric gave you something years ago."

Cary tensed. "Yeah. I know that sounds silly--like I'm trying to justify things, but--"

"No," I said, taking her hand. "What if you were?" She frowned, not following. "What if youweredrugged? How well do you know Gina? Or how well was she keeping track of your drinks? Is it possible that somebody--somebody sent to follow you and get incriminating pictures--might have had a chance to put something in one of your drinks? I just read something about this a little while back."

Cary went white. "Holy... oh my God." She shook her head, as if trying to clear the idea from it. "I mean, I only know Gina fromCurvesand from going to her classes. Do you think she was part of the setup?"

"Doyou?" I shrugged. "I'm kind of suspicious about everything right now--seeing phantoms and private eyes around every corner. But I'd at least check up on her. See if there's any chance this was all a setup from the beginning."

A weary sigh deflated Cary as it escaped from her. "God, I'm so tired of him. Everything he does is just so exhausting. I hate this second-guessing and suspicion. Is this howhealways feels?"

I took her other hand and pulled her towards me, coffee forgotten. "We have each other. He can't touch that now. It's time to turn the tables. If there's still somebody following us, we need to catch them. And we need to do it without Eric knowing, at first."

Jaw tightening grimly, Cary nodded. "You're right. He needs to think that he's still got the upper hand. As soon as he knows he's been found out, he'll just deny it and try to cover his tracks. We have until next weekend when he comes back from Iowa with the kids."

I kissed her. "You're so tough and clever. I missed you so much."

Cary stood in a businesslike manner. "You get into the shower with me, sir," she said. "Then we have some phone calls to make."

* * * * *

* * * * *

It was a week of explaining.

My parents were stunned, but as I laid out the sequence of events, they grew more and more incensed. Finally, I had to talk my mom down from driving over to Eric's house and knocking his head in with a tire iron. My main argument was that he was out of town at the moment, and therefore had taken his cranium with him. I didn't generally object to the idea of my mother knocking his brains around with something heavy on principle.

Once their outrage had cooled and they saw that I was happy, they went into protector mode: who did they need to call? How much jail time was it for tampering with mail? Howdarethe postal service allow such nonsense! Eventually they came around to worrying about Cary and her kids. Was she getting help? How were her kids taking things? Did they need a place to stay?

It was nice to have them on my side. And I explained some of our plans.

Liss was cautiously supportive, even though she couldn't resist telling me that she had warned me about how terrible somebody like Eric could be. Even over the phone, I could hear her sour "told-you-so" smirk. Still, she was happy that I was happy.

"You know I like Cary, right?" she said at the end of the call. "I was never worried aboutherbeing a problem."

Jack came back on Wednesday. Cary and I met him at his gate at the airport along with his parents and one brother when he landed. His eyes lit up and a look of relief washed over his face as he saw us together, Cary wrapped around me like a vine growing around a tree. After hugging his family, he turned to us with a critical eye sweeping up and down.

"Good," he said to the pair of us, as if we had asked a question. "That was dumb. If anybody could screw up 'getting some space' it's you two. Cary, you look great." He raised an eyebrow at me. "And damn, dude.I'msupposed to be the muscular one. You look like you're carved out of wood now. Nice goatee--are you auditioning to play Mephistopheles?"

We all stared at each other in silence for a beat, a broke out in laughter.

A few days later, we all had dinner together: the Three Musketeers, Jenna, and Sascha. Eric and the kids would be arriving tomorrow afternoon, and plans needed to be made. Cary and I told them who we had already called and what leads we had already followed. Sascha sketched out a detailed diagram on the paper table-covering while we waited for our pasta and breadsticks. Even though we all laughed at the cloak-and-dagger nature of our developing schemes, we also took it pretty seriously.

By the time our waiter returned with cracked pepper in olive oil and a basket full of garlic breadsticks, it looked like we were involved in Cold War-era counter-espionage. But we also had a good idea of what needed to be done to catch the private eye. Cary, Sascha, and I each kept a small flip-notepad full of names and numbers: our homework to set up the Sting (as we called it).

Cary and I each bought cellular phones. They were expensive, and charged by the minute after the first hour per month, but they were worth it to make sure that we could communicate quickly and privately. I was already preparing to go back to school, gathering my belongings and checking my plans. That left the last week for some uncomfortable meetings and discussions.

To my surprise, Sami contacted me directly to meet her and Cary for lunch--the first of a few, I suspected. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I was happy to be putting our life back in order. Cary and I drove together--mostly because she insisted on keeping a lookout for any cars following us or anybody who looked suspicious. I chuckled. "I don't think the private eye will be easy to spot," I said. "They probably just look like anybody else. Otherwise they wouldn't be a very good investigator."

Cary huffed in annoyance and absently reached up to run her hand through my hair. "They should all be required to wear trench coats and fedoras," she muttered. "Like Dick Tracy."

"See here," I sneered in a mock-gangster voice, "You've been musclin' in on our territory, see? So back off, or it's curtains for you, dick!"

Cary giggled. "You can be in charge of the intimidating speeches. I'll just be the sentinel."

When we arrived at the French Bistro, we found that Samantha was also joining us. Cary shot me a look. I had been given to understand that Sami and Samantha--besides being best friends--also tended to link metaphorical arms and present a united front when they felt like Cary needed help. Or a talking-to. I wondered which one this was.

"You came together?" Sami asked, after greetings had been exchanged and we sat at our table.

I nodded. "I feel like it's going to be pretty hard to keep us apart for a while."

Two pairs of brown eyes met each other as Sami and Samantha glanced at each other. I laughed out loud, and they both started guiltily. "What?" Sami asked.

"You two look like you're plotting something," I smirked. "It's probably how Jack and I look when we're thinking the same thing."

Sami sighed and gave me a long look, followed by a similar glance to Cary. As our glasses of water arrived, she finally squared her shoulders and turned to Cary. "Did you tell him?"

Cary frowned, then looked abashed and nodded. "Of course I did."

Leaning forward on her elbows, Sami laced her fingers. "All of it?"

"Ofcourse, all of it," Cary answered, more than slightly nettled.

I looked between them. "Is this about the night at the club? Lana's birthday party?"

Samantha nodded slowly, keeping an eye on me, as if watching for a reaction.

Sami turned towards me. "I wanted to make sure you knew, because you were so sweet about things before. And you obviously love her so much."

Cary frowned. "What do you mean 'before?'"

Sami's eyebrows went up. "You didn't tell her?" she asked me. "About Christmas?"

I flushed. "Why would I? The important thing is that she was happy."

Cary folded her arms. "Okay, what's up?"

Seeing my hesitation, Sami rolled her eyes. "He'sthe one who made sure you had a Christmas stocking. He stopped by my house and gave me a ridiculous amount of money to make sure you got something, and didn't want me to tell you it was him."

Cary's gray eyes turned to me, wide and adoring. "Really?"

I shrugged. "I didn't want you to go without a stocking again. And I didn't want you to think I was trying to buy you back. I just... wanted you to be happy. To have a nice Christmas."

Happy tears shined at the corner of Cary's eyes and she grabbed my hand, squeezing it. "You really are just perfect for me."

Samantha had settled back, arms crossed. So far, she had been silent. But she finally made a sour face and asked Cary, "Then how do you explain Lana's birthday?"

Cary's grip on me tightened, but she didn't back down. "The same way I did months ago--I was hurt and I was drunk. But there's more now that we didn't know before."

Sami wouldn't let it drop. She jutted her chin towards me. "So, you know that she had sex with two other guys? In one night?"

I nodded. "Yeah. She told me. And I told her I slept with another girl. And we've both moved past it." I raised an eyebrow. "Are you two... are you trying to look out forme?"

Sami wouldn't meet Cary's eyes. "You... you really love her. And we know how much she loves you. We just wanted to be sure that--"

Cary almost knocked over her drink gesturing. "To be sure wedeserveeach other? Is that what this is?"

Samantha leaned forward, coming to her friend's rescue. "Okay, this was clumsy. We're sorry. We just--this has been a really hard year for you. And us." She looked at me sympathetically. "And for Matt. And we didn't want to see anything jeopardize your happiness again."

I took a sip of my water and tugged at Cary. She allowed herself to be pulled close to me, and she leaned against my shoulder. "Cary says you were playing watchdog for her. And trying to shoo guys away." I nodded. "It sounds like you were being a really good friend."

Sami grimaced. "Not good enough."

Cary snorted. "Good enough to do what? Stop me?" Sami's expression indicated that was exactly what she had meant.

I laughed. "Have youevertried to stop Cary from doinganything?"

After a moment of surprise, the tension cracked and the three women started to laugh ruefully. But Sami still had a guarded expression. "So are you actually okay with this?"

I shook my head. "I don't think either of us is 'okay' with what happened. But we've moved beyond it and aren't letting it poison anything." I sat back. "And speaking of poison, how closely were Cary's drinks watched?"

Sami looked thoughtful, but Samantha immediately leaned forward and gazed at me intently.

"Pretty closely. I was on guard duty," Sami answered. But her expression suddenly became less certain. "Except... except those last two that whatshername gave you," she said to Cary. "Gina. She just brought them over."

The waiter came over and took our orders, and then Cary and I quickly brought Sami and Samantha up to speed on our concerns. Samantha's eyebrows drew down. "Shit, that was just inNewsweekearlier this year. 'Roofies' is what they called it. When I was younger they called it 'slipping you a Mickey.'"

I crossed my arms. "And what are the signs of taking roofies?"

Sami thought. "Gaps in memory. Lowered inhibitions... the article said that sometimes you don't even act like yourself."

Samantha was nodding slowly. "Some of the stories in there were about women just sort of... blacking out and coming to halfway through making out with a strange guy. And sleeping for half the day afterwards." She blanched. "Holy shit. Do you really think...?"

Cary sighed. "I don't know what to think. It all seems to fit, but maybe that's just because I want it to. Ididsleep for most of the next day. And it wouldn't be past Eric to try something like that... again. Except this time to try to use it to make me look 'soiled' to Matt."

I snorted. "What a stupid concept."

A grim cast settled over Cary's features. "Not to him. He's like a selfish little kid who never learned to share. Ifhecan't have me, he'd rather I was 'ruined' for anybody else." Her grip was tense as she spoke, and I reached over to stroke the side of her face and neck. I could see the tension in her shoulders ease at my touch.

We sat in silence for a few moments, but it seemed as though a pall had lifted from the three women. Instead of guarded, anxious expressions, they all looked determined. Energized. As the waiter brought our soups and salads, Sami glowered. "What are we going to do about it?"

Cary and I shared a look and grinned. "Glad you asked," she answered. And at that, we started discussing the plan that we had developed with Jack, Jenna, and Sascha. We filled them in on the calls we had already made and the steps we had taken. By the end, Samantha was beaming mischievously, and Sami was looking back and forth between the three of us, grudging respect showing in her expression.

"You two are scary," she said. "Remind me not to get on your bad side."

* * * * *

* * * * *

The day before I left for my last year of college, Cary and I decided to tell her kids. We were both at the door when Eric brought them to her apartment. The look on his face was almost worth all the heartache and misery of the past year when he saw us together--my arm encircling Cary's waist and Cary leaning up against me happily.

"Matt?" Patrick's voice was uncertain. He looked at me without entering the apartment. I nodded. His eyebrows rose in surprise. "Whoa. You grew a beard. Sort of. And your arms look hard." He shot a glance at his dad, and clammed up. He ducked his head and went into his room.

Annie stared at me with wide eyes, as if I had just emerged from a sewer like an alligator from an urban legend. The expression on her face pinballed between puzzlement, surprise, and--most baffling of all to me--terror. Like she had been caught stealing cookies out of the cookie jar and was afraid of getting in trouble. Wordlessly, she scuttled into her room, keeping Cary between us.

Eric's dark eyes had nearly popped out of his face. He had gone sallow under his sandy-blonde hair. I took several full seconds to look him full in the face and grin. Cary seemed to be enjoying herself as well. No words would have been sufficient to express my contempt for him, and Cary contented herself with simply saying "Bye, Eric," in a falsely saccharine tone before closing the door.

I had worked with Cary to put together a reasonable facsimile of what Uncle Liam called his "Thousand Dollar Cheeseburgers" on a little portable grill out on Cary's porch (in complete contravention of apartment building rules). Cary had found a way to season steak fries with olive oil and paprika that tasted amazing. We wanted the kids' lunch to be great while we talked to them.

As I put the milk and ice cream into a blender to make home-made chocolate milkshakes, Cary went and knocked on each of her kids' doors in turn. I could hear the soft tones of her voice under the whirring of the processing blades, but not much else. Whatever she said to them to coax them out of their rooms, it took a few minutes. I busied myself putting a selection of whipped cream, maraschino cherries, and sprinkles out on the counter for the kids to choose.

Patrick was the first to come out. He sniffed the air, clearly liking what he smelled. At nearly twelve years old, he was getting to the age where food was a primary motivator, no matter the potential awkwardness of the situation. I had tied myself into emotional knots about this moment the night before. Only Cary's soothing affirmations and our frantic lovemaking had been enough to relax me.