Disarmed by Aliza Mann Page B

passed, and was well into night by the time he worked up the nerve to call Mavis. He didn’t know how to begin. How to tell her he hadn’t meant to hurt her, or that he really wanted her to be a part of his life. He imagined himself saying that she needed to give him some time to work through his issues with trusting himself and allowing her in slowly, but each daydream turned into a screaming match in his mind.
    Not that he had ever had one with her, but he had never fully committed to her in the past and explaining to her that he wanted to try but would need to move slowly would strike her, a slap across her delicate skin.
    At eight p.m., he heard his mother returning from her weekly knitting circle, a fancy way of saying that four older ladies sat around and gossiped about everyone and everything that occurred in town. When she entered, he noted how athletic she looked in her navy blue jogging suit. She and her friends usually strode around the subdivision to get a little exercise before they settled into their chinwag session.
    “Hey, son. I didn’t see you before you left this morning. You were up early.”
    “Yeah. I had to get moving. Had some things to take care of.” He hadn’t divulged that he’d followed up on the call from the clinic, let alone that he had begun treatment. “When I came back, you’d gone knitting already.”
    “Oh, okay.”
    “So, how are you?”
    “Typically well, son, typically well. You know I heard that Mavis has a little friend. Did you know about that?”
    “Yep. She’s free to do as she pleases.”
    “Well, you know I mind my own business, but I just would hate to see something bad happen to a person when it could be avoided.” Momma Jewell set her pocketbook on the table along with her basket of knitting supplies before going into the kitchen. “You want a sip?”
    “Yeah, I would. Thanks.” A sip meant a shot of the Captain Morgan’s rum that his mother kept beneath the kitchen sink. She didn’t like for her neighbors or any visitors to know that she occasionally took a drink. It was for times when she was especially upset or sad.
    Jessie didn’t know which she was at the moment. Most likely, she was sad as she watched her potential for grandchildren slip from view.
    “You know, I remember when I almost didn’t continue seeing your father.” She set the glasses on the table along with the half-empty fifth of rum. She must have been sad or angry quite a bit lately.
    “I can’t imagine that. Dad was smooth, or at least he thought he was.”
    For a moment, his mother rolled her eyes, then a flash on her face told of the fond memory that must have danced through her mind.
    “He thought, so he thought. Anyway, I loved him from the day I laid eyes on him. He was so handsome. You look so much like him when he was your age. He was a ladies’ man, though. He didn’t want to settle down. My goodness, he was something else. So, I thought I best take my chances with Mr. Dermal. He was a hard worker and above all, he treated me like a queen.”
    For a moment, she stared out the window as if she was contemplating something, rolling it over in her mind.
    “I obviously know what happened—”
    “Yes, of course I married your father. But it wasn’t until he had a sudden change of heart. One night, we were all at Lenore's wedding. I had accepted a date with Mr. Dermal. I knew that I wasn’t in love with him, but sometimes a woman has to cut her losses. Go with the best hand, you know? I was into all of one dance with him and here comes your father, stomping across the dance floor. He was red as a wagon and madder than a white-mouthed mule.” A guttural laugh escaped as she took a sip of her drink.
    “So, he dragged you off and proposed, right?”
    “No. He tried to grab me. Mr. Dermal knocked him clean out, down he went onto his keister and we kept right on dancing. But, after that, my hard heart grew soft on him. He was sending me flowers and everybody in town was