Apples Should Be Red Read online

  Bev nodded. “Me too.” Her arms had wrapped around his waist, and now her soft little hands were stroking his back. Over his dingy white T-shirt.

  It felt like heaven.

  It felt like hell.

  “Let’s open up that bottle of Coppola Merlot. I need a drink.”

  Tom smiled. “Now that’s the best goddamned idea I’ve heard all day. Let’s go.”

  The kitchen.

  Oh God! The kitchen.

  Bev squeezed her eyes shut and made three wishes. Maybe it would work.

  When she opened her eyes the kitchen was still a mess. She whimpered.

  “Bev?”

  Sniff.

  “What? This isn’t so bad. They cleaned up and went away. That’s what you wanted, right?”

  “This is clean?” Beverly winced at the shrillness of her voice.

  “Looks pretty good to me.”

  “Clearly you and I have different standards for cleanliness.”

  He chuckled. “I promise I’ll help get your stations reorganized later. Come on. Let’s go into the living room with some cheese and crackers and wine.”

  She nodded. She was afraid if she opened her mouth to answer, she would wail.

  Tom tugged her into the living room. He thrust a giant glass of red wine into her hands and pushed a plate of food to the edge of the coffee table.

  “Eat that. You’re getting shaky. You need some food.”

  Beverly looked down at the plate. Ritz crackers, pre-sliced cheese, and a few strawberries. She took a big sip of her wine as she settled on the couch.

  “Are these from the farm stand?” She picked up a berry and nibbled.

  Tom sat across from her and poured himself a bourbon. “Yep, they’re good. How about we serve turkey and strawberries tomorrow?”

  Bev laughed. She couldn’t help it. Tom sure was trying hard to cheer her up.

  She bit into the strawberry and focused on that one bite. Sweet, juicy, simple. Why did Thanksgiving have to be so complicated?

  She let out a long sigh. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow morning. The cleaning, the cooking. I just can’t face everything right now. I’ll do it in the morning.”

  “No.”

  Bev glanced up to see Tom looking more irritable than normal.

  “What do you mean no?”

  “Sorry, Bev, but you’re not doing all this by yourself. The cleaning. The cooking. I’m helping whether you like it or not. You might not approve of the way I do things, but I’m officially your partner-in-crime for Thanksgiving. Got it?”

  She took another generous sip of wine. “I’m not used to…you know. Having a partner.”

  “I know. Roger watched TV while you worked your ass off. I noticed.” Tom sipped his bourbon.

  “Well. That’s how it was.”

  “That’s how it was with him, because he was a royal douchebag. Bertie and I always divvied up the chores for holidays. I might not be Miss Fancy Pants Martha Stewart, but I manage to feed myself on a daily basis.” He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “Partners.”

  How tempting to share the burden. How tempting to let down her defenses. To let Tom in. Did she dare?

  “I can only imagine what you would prepare for Thanksgiving.”

  Tom chuckled. “How do you feel about beer can turkey on the grill?”

  Bev barked out a half laugh/half cry and spit out the berry. It landed on the table, right next to her plate. Horrified, she covered her mouth. “Excuse me.” She could feel her cheeks flaming.

  She reached over with a napkin to pick up the offending piece of food, but Tom beat her to it. He snatched it up and popped it into his mouth.

  “Well, isn’t that tasty?” He chewed the strawberry slowly and smiled at Beverly.

  Her mouth hung open, stunned into silence.

  “No use wasting a perfectly good strawberry,” he said.

  “Tom! You are insane! That is…that is…I don’t even know what to say. I spit that out!”

  “So what. I’ve already been inside your mouth.” The heated look he sent her shocked her senseless.

  Beverly didn’t think it was possible, but she felt her blush intensify.

  “That is…oh my God!”

  He stood up and took another gulp of bourbon. Then moved to the sofa and sat down perilously close to her, crowding her into the corner.

  “Tom? What are you doing?” She could feel the heat of his leg pressed up against her. Hard as a rock.

  “I’ll bet you taste like strawberries. Do you taste like strawberries, Beverly?”

  She made the mistake of looking into his eyes. Not so icy blue anymore. His face was too close. She caught her breath as he licked his lips.

  “Are you flirting with me? Because this is utterly ridiculous.”

  His hand landed on her leg and rubbed up and down her slacks. The sight of his dark rough fingers clutching the silky fabric was mesmerizing. He squeezed her thigh. A heaviness, a fullness, seeped into the space between her thighs, the space she’d ignored for thirty-seven years. This cannot be happening.

  “How am I doing? I’m a little bit rusty with the whole flirting thing,” Tom said, his voice scratchy.

  “I have no idea. I need to go clean the kitchen.” She started to get up, but he pushed her down.

  “Not yet. I want to taste you. I want some more strawberries.”

  Tom leaned over and kissed her. Nipped at her lips, moaned as his tongue slid into her mouth. He was so very different from Roger. She had no idea how to respond. She lifted her hand and stroked his cheek. The pads of her fingers dragged over the stubble and she nipped back at his top lip. I hope I’m doing this right. The way he likes it.

  “Oh fuck, that’s it. Don’t stop, Bev.”

  I guess he likes it.

  “Better than strawberries.”

  She shivered as his hands roamed. His beard rasped her neck.

  “You like this don’t you, Miss Prim and Proper?”

  “I…I don’t know.”

  “I think you do. I’m gonna enjoy every second of watching you come undone.”

  It was the wine. It was the exhaustion. Things were uncertain. Up in the air.

  It was his touch. Rough and gentle. It was his mouth. Biting, sucking.

  If she closed her eyes, she could be anyone. Someone else.

  They made out on the sofa. Like a couple of kids. She was melting into a puddle. Like a slab of brie on a platter, bubbling under the broiler.

  His hands cupped her breasts, stroked between her thighs, snuck under her blouse. She could feel the lift of her hips, searching for his hardness. He pressed her down on the sofa and ground against her, relieving the ache. Her nails scored his back and he sucked hard on her neck.

  She whimpered. “Oh my God. That feels good.”

  “What feels good? What? This?” He pushed his erection against her. “Or this?” He nibbled and sucked on her neck.

  “Both,” she whispered. “Both. Everything. I think I’m drunk.”

  “The hell you are. You’re turned on.”

  He lifted his head and gazed into her face. They were both breathing hard. “Have you ever been aroused like this before, Beverly?” He rolled his hips over her and she cried out.

  “No.” She was so embarrassed, tears formed in her eyes.

  “There’s nothing to worry about. I’m gonna make you feel good, okay?”

  “I’m too old for this.”

  “Bullshit. You’re only fifty-nine. Why do you keep calling yourself old?” He removed her blouse and nuzzled her cleavage. “Look at these sweet little titties. They’re perfect.”

  “You are insane.” She would die if he stopped. Die.

  He unsnapped her bra and sucked on her nipples. Back and forth, over and over again. Beverly was vaguely aware she was bucking up against him, arching her back. The noises she made didn’t sound human.

  “You like that, don’t you?” Tom appeared entirely too pleased with himself.r />
  She nodded. “Do I get a turn?” Her voice was shaky.

  He laughed. “Christ, I sure hope so. I’m about to explode.”

  “Are we going to have sex on the sofa?” Bev blurted it out.

  “Yep, we sure are.” He pulled off his clothes and flung them to the floor. He gently removed her slacks and underwear, then dragged his rough hands all over her skin.

  She was having sex with her daughter’s father-in-law. On the sofa.

  Oh my God!

  She watched in a daze as he lowered himself onto her. Big, hot, naked man, hard and heavy and sexy. The look in his eyes as he absorbed every detail was stunning. He didn’t look bored, or disgusted.

  He looked excited. He looked hungry.

  Tom propped himself up on his elbows and rubbed his thick erection over her slickness. Had she ever been wet like this? Her brain wasn’t functioning. Something was winding tight inside of her. Hot and melted, bubbling. Sizzling. This was it. How it was supposed to feel.

  “Honey, don’t cry.” Tom kissed the corner of her eyes.

  “I didn’t know,” she sobbed.

  “It’s okay. It’s gonna get better. Just relax and let go.” He rubbed and rubbed and entered her and moved. Beverly moved too. Not in the least bit self-conscious.

  In the morning she would pretend this was all a dream.

  “That’s my girl. Give me a ride.” Tom’s breathing fractured in her ear. He shouted and slapped his pelvis against her.

  She moaned as he sucked her breasts again and something rushed up inside of her, tortured and ready. Waiting for years, waiting for him.

  They erupted together, glued to each other with sweat and heat pooling beneath them.

  “That’s my girl.” He kissed her forehead. He kissed the tip of her nose. He kissed her cheeks, wet with tears.

  “Oh. My. God.”

  “Was that your first orgasm, Bev?”

  She nodded, afraid to speak.

  “Ready for the second one?”

  Thomas Jenkins had a twinkle in his eye. Like a mischievous teenager, raring to go.

  Her partner-in-crime. On the sticky sofa.

  “I’m ready,” Beverly said.

  “Well, the house is still standing.” John hefted a box of beer in his arms as he jogged up the steps to his dad’s porch.

  “I’m just worried. I tried calling my mom about a thousand times this morning and didn’t get an answer. That’s weird.” Karen cradled a stuffing casserole. “Why wouldn’t she answer?”

  John laughed. “Are you kidding me? She is probably running around like a crazy person making sure every last detail is perfect. You know your mom.” He swung open the porch door with his foot. “Dad! We’re here.”

  Karen and John stepped into the foyer and placed their boxes on the floor. “Mom!” Karen yelled. “Oh my God. Maybe they killed each other! We’re going to find dead bodies, I know it.” She bit her lip.

  “Huh. That is sort of odd.” John peeked into the living room. “Oh fuck me.” He took a step back. “Karen, don’t go in there.”

  “Are you kidding me? Dead bodies?”

  “No. Live bodies.” John started to laugh.

  “What is so funny?” Karen demanded and stomped over to the living room entrance. She stopped in her tracks and then began to slowly shake her head back and forth. “That’s not…possible. Not…no. No. Absolutely…No.”

  John grabbed her hand and pulled her back to the foyer. His wife’s face was white. “Let’s give them some privacy, okay?”

  “John.” Her voice trembled.

  “Yes, sweetheart?”

  “Um, I did not just see our parents on the sofa. Naked, under a blanket. With their arms around each other. Naked. Together.” Her eyes were wide. “Naked.”

  “How about that? They didn’t kill each other.” John stroked her back in a soothing motion. He was trying like hell not to laugh again.

  “John.” Her breath was labored.

  “Uh-huh.” He couldn’t help himself. He started laughing.

  “This is not funny! Not! Our parents hate each other. Your dad hates everyone! It’s not even possible in an alternate reality.” She bent over, trying to catch her breath. “Oh my God!”

  “Jesus H. Christ! Who’s making such a racket out there! We’re trying to—” John heard his dad yell, and then some rustling from the other room.

  Karen and John listened to the whispered conversation in shock.

  “Bev, don’t be embarrassed.”

  “I can’t believe we slept so late! I haven’t even cleaned up, or started dinner…”

  “I told you not to worry about that. We’ll all pitch in.”

  “Tom, help me find my clothes.”

  “I don’t want to…”

  “Now!”

  John recognized that tone of voice. When Bev barked out an order like that, she meant business.

  “I like you naked,” Tom said.

  If possible, Karen’s face became paler.

  “Tom, stop that!” Mrs. Anderson giggled.

  John and Karen had been married for five years, and never, not once, had he heard Mrs. Anderson giggle. Not even close.

  John shook his head. “That’s it. We’re out of here.” He led Karen right out the door to the front porch. She staggered outside. “Dad! We’ll wait in the car until you’re ready for us.” He held Karen’s hand and steered her to the back of the Volkswagen.

  “Hon.”

  Karen nodded. She seemed incapable of speech.

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “Really? It’s not? I’m thinking this heralds the commencement of the zombie apocalypse or something.”

  John kissed her cheek. “Did you see them snuggled up together? They looked happy. My dad’s been lonely for a long time. Your mom…she deserves some fun.”

  She slowly nodded her head. “I agree with both of those things. Your dad is lonely, but he also pushes people away. In spectacular fashion. My mom…I just can’t believe she had fun”—she cringed when she said the word and John snorted against his will—“with your dad.”

  He coughed. “You know what I noticed?”

  “What?” She plunked her head down on his shoulder and sighed. “What did you notice? That the entire world just tipped on its axis and we’ve entered a rip in the space-time continuum?”

  “God, I love being married to a sci-fi geek. That really turns me on, babe.”

  She laughed and punched him in the arm.

  “No, that’s not what I noticed. What I noticed was they were both smiling. In their sleep.”

  She raised her head and looked at him. “They were.”

  “Uh-huh. Smiling.” He struggled to avoid another round of laughter.

  “Oh my God!”

  Karen was convinced.

  It was a rip in the space-time continuum.

  She watched in complete amazement as her mother chopped apples—gold and green apples, no less—and put them in a bowl. Her mom wore faded jeans, one of Tom’s old T-shirts, and not a speck of make-up. Or jewelry. The pearls were missing in action. Her fingernails were no longer daggers.

  Tom kissed the back of her mom’s neck and Bev closed her eyes. In a sweet, relaxed moment of bliss. She couldn’t hide it.

  Holy crap on a cracker, her mom was falling in love with Tom Jenkins.

  If a comet filled with aliens exploded directly into the kitchen, Karen would not be more surprised.

  Bev picked up a cube of apple and popped it into Tom’s mouth. He looked at her with complete focus and intensity, his bright blue eyes blazing. And then he leaned down and gave her a kiss right on the lips. A hot kiss.

  Karen’s mom blushed and kissed him back.

  “Karen? You’ve been washing that head of lettuce for about ten minutes. I’m pretty sure it’s clean by now.” John gently removed the greens from her hands and set them on the counter. “You okay, hon?”

  She nodded.

  “You sure? How about a g
lass of wine?”

  She nodded harder.

  “I’ll get you the wine. Babe?”

  Karen turned to John and tried to ignore the parental drama in the background.

  “It’s gonna be okay.”

  She faced her husband, who wasn’t even trying to hide the smirk on his face. “If you say so.”

  “Karen, can I help you with the salad?” Her mom suddenly materialized next to her. “I am so embarrassed Thanksgiving dinner isn’t ready. Forgive me?”

  Her mother looked so nervous it broke Karen’s heart.

  “Mom, I don’t care about the dinner. It’s no big deal. We have plenty of food.”

  “Tom said you’d feel that way. I…” Her mom pursed her lips. “I felt like I had to produce a perfect dinner, just the way we used to have with your dad. I don’t want you to think that since your father has died I’m some sort of slacker or something.”

  Karen shook her head in disbelief. “God, I wish you’d be a slacker for a while. There’s no reason to spend so much time creating a decorator showcase house and garden and meals. Just relax.” She glanced at Tom who nodded at her in solidarity.

  I can’t believe I’m thinking this, but I actually have a feeling Tom Jenkins is good for my mother. Holy Crap!

  “I had everything under control yesterday, and then some neighbors came over—”

  “—and all hell broke loose. Bev doesn’t do so well when her system is fucked up.”

  Bev glared at Tom.

  He cleared his throat. “Excuse my French. Screwed up. I meant screwed up.”

  John laughed so hard he started wheezing.

  Karen slid her arm around Bev’s waist. “It’s okay. I sort of like doing this hodgepodge dinner. It’s fun.” She kissed her mom on the cheek. “Although I do think I need more alcohol.”

  “Me too.” Her mom kissed her back, and the two of them smiled at each other.

  Are you sure you know what you’re doing? Sleeping with Tom Jenkins?

  I like him. I think he likes me, too.

  “Ladies, please enjoy this fine Merlot, compliments of your host.” Tom offered both of them a glass of wine and tossed a beer can to his son.

  Bev took a big gulp of her wine. “Well, I’ve never had such a ramshackle Thanksgiving meal before, but I guess we won’t starve. Every time I look around this room and see the mess and willy-nilly organization, I…” She glanced at Tom. “I feel like I’m jumping out of an airplane without a parachute.”