Deuce of Hearts Page 2

  “I save your life twice and you want to repay me by taking a chunk out of my thumb? Not cool, dog, not cool,” I mutter, looking around for its owner.

  A middle-aged woman with hair twice the size of her head comes running toward me, holding out her arms. It’s a bit comical to see her teetering in her neon pink high heels and I almost need sunglasses from the brightness of her matching neon capris and tank top.

  “Cookie! Cookie!” She slows as she sees me holding her precious dog. The woman straightens her posture, thrusting her breasts in my direction. Defensively, I hold her dog in front of me to block any sort of barrage she might make on me.

  “This your dog?”

  “Yes,” she almost purrs, reaching out and taking the mutt from my hands. “This is my precious Cookie. She must’ve jumped out of the car while I was inside the New To You Boutique.”

  I stifle my laughter at the irony of a thrift store being called a boutique.

  “Where’d you find her?”

  Nodding toward my bike that’s still lying in the street, I take a step in that direction so I can check out the damage done to my precious motorcycle. “Dog almost got hit twice.”

  Cookie’s glowing owner, steps in front of me, blocking my path. The dog under her right arm, she reaches out and squeezes my bicep with her free hand. “Oh, Cookie’s so lucky to have a strong man like you keep her safe.”

  I nod and mutter, “Yeah, whatever.”

  Trying to sidestep her, she moves with me making it impossible for me to get to my bike. “How can I repay you…”

  She blinks her eyes, waiting to hear my name. Sighing, knowing she isn’t going to let me go until she at least finds out who I am, I hold out my hand. “Garrison Cucuzzo, old man Cuzzo’s grandson. No need to repay me.” I hold up my hand to wave off the idea. “Have a good day,” I add, letting her know the conversation is over.

  But no, Cookie’s mom doesn’t let me go that easily. Her hot pink nails grab my chin and she shakes her head, a giant grin on her face. “Now, Garrison, what kind of lady would I be if I didn’t thank you properly for saving my little Cookie?”

  Somehow, I have a feeling I’m going to find out whether I want to or not.

  Sawyer

  Funny, somehow the thought of driving the Beast scared away my hunger but I still had to get out of that house. Too emotional to handle any of my mother’s belongings, I loaded up the Beast with boxes that had already been packed by my mother herself. They were even labeled ‘take to resale’ which made me a little uneasy because her death was unexpected. The irony that she had already began to get rid of stuff makes me wonder if she had some sort of premonition that something was going to happen to her. If she did, I’m not happy that she didn’t share that with me but then again, I’ll never know.

  Tears in my eyes, I carry in the last box and set it on the counter of New to You Boutique. The ridiculousness of the name makes me roll my eyes and push away my tears. At this point, the tears are more annoying that any sort of emotional release. The lady behind the counter is rummaging through the first of the boxes I brought in so I decide to open the box in front of me to see what my mother was getting rid of.

  On the top of the box are just old t-shirts and towels and I almost stop digging. Then my fingers run across the softest fabric and I lean in closer to the box, trying to see what I just felt. The item is hidden on the very bottom of the box and I start throwing out the ratty clothes on top until I unveil the most gorgeous dress I’ve ever seen. I pull out the pale, baby blue garment, gasping, as the outfit is even more beautiful the more I reveal. The bottom is a light blue chiffon material while the bodice is silk and the sleeves and back are sheer. Rhinestones decorate the neckline and waistband, some missing from over the years along with some of the buttons that line the backbone of the dress but the bow still sits perfectly in its place at the bustle. My fingers slide over the silk and I smile, recalling the picture of my grandmother wearing this exact gown.

  “That’s beautiful, we’ll take that for sure!” the young clerk exclaims, looking up at me from behind the counter. Her face swells with pride at her find, knowing her boss will be happy at her claim.

  “Um, well… this wasn’t supposed to be in there.” I grasp the dress tightly against my chest, afraid it might evaporate if I don’t hold on to it.

  “No!” she shouts then waves her hand. “Sorry, I mean, don’t you want to sell it? I could offer you $200 right now for it.”

  Furrowing my eyebrows, I question her approach. “I thought this was consignment, you only pay if it sells.”

  “Well… it is but… I know it would sell so I’d give you the money up front,” she stutters over her explanation and I immediately know she could sell it for way more than she’s offering.

  “I’ll think about it.” I nod at the other boxes. “How long will it take you to go through those?”

  The girl huffs unhappy and shrugs. “An hour.”

  “I’ll be back then,” I tell her, not wanting to watch her judge my family’s past over whether or not our items are worthy to resale.

  I walk out of the store, holding the blue dress delicately and placing it in the backseat of the Beast like I would a new baby. Climbing into the driver’s seat, I turn the key in the ignition, letting the Beast roar to life. I glance over my shoulder and hit the gas when I see no one is behind me. My foot barely touches the pedal and the Beast jumps out of its parking spot. Immediately, I hear the awful sound of metal on metal and my stomach sinks. Throwing the Beast into park, I shut off the engine and jump out of the car, wondering what I hit because there is no other car in the path of the Beast that I could have made contact with.

  “What the hell, woman? You ran over my bike!”

  I look briefly for this bike then over to the owner of the bike. My stomach flips at the sight of the handsome man in front of me. He’s every bit of six feet tall and some, his brown hair is short but in need of a haircut while his facial hair is neatly trimmed, and while he’s wearing jeans and a plain white t-shirt, his muscular physique is all too apparent. My mind immediately wanders to what a man his size could do with a girl like me.

  “Did you not even look behind you?”

  “Whoa!” I hold up my hands, snapping out of my hot guy fog now that he’s yelling at me… again, making him totally unhot in the flip of a switch. “Since when do people park their motorcycles in the middle of the street? How was I supposed to see that?”

  “Oh, honey, Garrison here saved my Cookie.”

  We both look over at the ‘80s Barbie who is holding a yappy dog in her hands. I bust out laughing at her comment, partly because it’s funny but also as my defense mechanism. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I wave my hands, looking up at Mr. Unhot and into his mesmerizing brown eyes. “Did she just say you saved her cookie?”

  Mr. Unhot throws his head back, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Look, just give me your number.”

  My laughter gone, I hold up my hands, halting the conversation. “What is this? Some kind of pick-up? I’m not going to give you my number.”

  “Pft, honey, you wish,” Eighties’ Barbie mutters.

  Again, both Mr. Unhot and I glance over at her, each of us giving her our own nasty looks. Mr. Unhot takes a deep breath and points to the sidewalk. I raise an eyebrow, knowing he isn’t giving me some kind of order.

  “Sandy, let me handle this, just wait over there.”

  Eighties’ Barbie huffs as does her dog and I clamp down on the inside of my cheek to keep from hysterically laughing. She retreats to the sidewalk and I find myself smirking happily that she’s no longer part of the equation. It isn’t until Mr. Unhot clears his throat that I bring my attention back to the fiasco at hand and I cross my arms.

  “Look, just give me your number and we can work out the insurance shit later. I need to get home,” Mr. Unhot says, obviously trying to keep the irritation out of his voice but failing miserably.

  My stomach sinks, recalling all th
e bills piled up on my mother’s table. “Um… how much do you think it’ll cost to fix it? I can just pay you instead of going through insurance.”

  “Easily a grand, you completely demolished the frame.” He kicks at the bike, not attempting to hide his disdain any more.

  “I… I don’t have the kind of money right now but I can get it to you in a couple weeks.” This will just expedite the whole cleaning process at my mom’s and get me back to New York sooner.

  He scoffs and shakes his head. “Yeah, whatever, I don’t fuckin’ care right now. Just give me your number so I can get out of here.”

  I open the door to the Beast to get a piece of paper and the material of my grandmother’s evening gown catches my attention. Scribbling my number on a napkin, I grab the dress and hand the paper to Mr. Unhot.

  He glances at the writing then looks up at me. “Sawyer? Is that your real name?”

  Scoffing, I hold the dress tighter against me. “Yes, Garrison, it is.”

  He smirks and nods, folding the napkin and slipping it into his jeans. “Alright then, Sawyer, I’ll be in touch.”

  Garrison walks over to his bike, picking it up and finally moving it out of the street where it didn’t belong in the first place. Reluctantly, I walk back into New to You Boutique, still wanting to gag at the name, and I set the dress on the counter. The sales lady looks up, her eyes going wide as she sees my offering. Then, those pesky, damn tears reappear and I really wish I could just laugh.

  CHAPTER 3

  Sawyer

  The good news about getting rid of my grandmother’s ballroom dress is that it’s made it much easier to part with everything else at my mother’s. At the rate I’m going, I should be out of this town forever by the weekend. Glancing up at the mirror in my mother’s bedroom, I swipe my arm over my forehead, wiping away the sweat. Of course, there’s one mystery that needs to be solved before I leave because when I do, I won’t ever be coming back here.

  I bite my bottom lip, pondering the meaning of the ripped playing card that hangs on the mirror. A phone number is written on it with a man’s name and no other information. This is one of those things that my mother died knowing and never passed the knowledge on to me, probably because it was none of my business but now it is. Who is Dean? What is his connection to my mother? Why did she save this card? It has to mean something, he has to be someone important and I’m going to figure out who he is.

  Yawning, I look over at the clock and note that it’s almost three in the morning. If someone took a look at this room, aside from the stacks of boxes, they wouldn’t even be able to tell I’d packed anything. I sigh and crawl into my mom’s bed, taking a deep inhale and falling asleep to the familiar rose scent that will always remind me of my mother. My mind drifts off, trying to find my R.E.M. cycle but I can’t let go of the idea of this man Dean. Relying on an old trick my mother taught me, I try to clear my mind and sing the words to Papa Don’t Preach, an unconventional lullaby but it’s the one song my mother sang to me every night I ever slept under this roof.

  As I sing the chorus, I open my eyes and bolt upright. Dean, I know who he is! It has to be my father. Jumping out of bed, I trip over the sheet, falling face first on the wood floor and bumping my forehead. Ugh, that’s going to leave a mark. Touching my face, I don’t feel blood so I stand up and run downstairs. I know I’ve seen my mother’s yearbooks before, now if only I can remember where. It only takes half an hour for me to find the yearbooks which turns out were right in front of my face the whole time. Who knew people, my mother specifically, set them out as coffee table books instead of actual coffee table books with scenic images to look at?

  Flipping through the pages, scanning for any Dean, I shake my head and laugh at my mother. Who would want to come over and casually peruse yearbooks? I yawn, not finding any Deans in the book. Maybe it was just my mother that wanted to reminisce. She never spoke of my father so I don’t know if was a forlorn relationship or something worse. I shiver at the thought, having entertained the idea that I could be the product of something horrible, but knowing I’d never find out until now. This playing card is the key to finding my father and finally understanding why he and my mother could never be together.

  Back in my mother’s bedroom now, my eyelids start to get heavy but I keep looking, desperate to begin my search somewhere. My mind starts to daydream of how my parents may have met. Was it at one of the ballroom classes that my grandmother forced my mother to attend? Did they pass each other in the hallway at school, my mother batting her eyelashes to catch his attention? Did she run over his motorcycle in the Beast?

  Unable to keep my eyes open any longer, I let myself fall into a deep slumber, thinking of more ways my mother could have met my father. I don’t know whether I love him or hate him. I don’t know if he even knows about me. I do know that my mother was young and unwed which at the time was still unacceptable so I wouldn’t put it past her to not have told him, to prove that she could raise a child on her own, which she did and she did well. Still, there’s a part of me that wants to know who he is, why he wasn’t around. I just want to finish that part of my story and be done with it. I’m twenty-four, I don’t need a father now, but I want to put the mystery to rest.

  Not quite awake and not fully asleep either, I startle when my phone plays the salsa ringtone loudly. My heart beats rapidly as I reach blindly for the phone, trying to silence it but instead I accidentally answer the phone call.

  “Hello?” the caller says in a deep, rich voice.

  “Hi,” I squeak out, my voice thick with sleep and sounding scratchy.

  “Is this Sawyer?”

  I roll my eyes, already irritated at whoever is calling. “Yeah, who’s this?”

  “Garrison Cocuzzo.”

  My stomach flips as I remember him from yesterday, his thick hands and that motorcycle.

  “You ran over my bike.”

  I kick off the blankets and get out of bed, making my way downstairs. “I know who you are. Look, I don’t have the money yet, it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours!”

  “Yeah, whatever. Look, I need a ride to Kirksville today so I can get some parts to fix my bike.”

  Standing in front of the fridge with the door open, I frown at the lack of options to eat or drink. “Okay… thanks for letting me know…” I respond, not quite sure why he’s checking in with me.

  On the other end of the line, Garrison lets out a sexy sigh and I can picture his nostrils flaring like they did yesterday. I bite my bottom lip to keep from smiling even though he can’t see me.

  “I need a ride. Remember… you ran over my bike? Write down my address and pick me up in an hour.”

  “Whoa!” He has my full attention now. “What makes you think I can drop everything and be at your beck and call? I have important things to do, you know.”

  “Don’t we all, sweetheart, but I wouldn’t need a ride if you hadn’t creamed my bike so I’ll see you in an hour.”

  He gives me the address and ends the phone call, not waiting for me to respond. I sigh, thoroughly irritated at the entire situation of being back in my hometown, all alone without my mother, and now the chauffeur to the hot, sexy man whose bike I demolished. Life is grand.

  Garrison

  “That woman,” I mutter, hanging up Cuzzo’s old rotary phone. I swear it’s the only one left in existence except maybe in a museum somewhere. Thank God I got it to work or I’d be stuck here all day, at least now I have a ride to fix my bike.

  “What woman?”

  I turn around, surprised Cuzzo could hear me but then again, the man has better hearing than a hawk. Spinning around in the barstool at his breakfast bar, I get up and walk toward the fridge.

  “Some chick named Sawyer.” I chuckle at her name. “Who names their daughter Sawyer? That’s a guy’s name.”

  “Sawyer Kingham… and don’t call a woman a chick,” Cuzzo says with a smile. “Sweet girl, or least she was when she lived here. I haven’t seen her in yea
rs, heard she only came home for the holidays but I never saw her around town.”

  I pour my grandfather and I each a cup of coffee. “What’s her story?”

  “The Kingham family has been around Memphis for longer than me but now the girl is the only one left since her mother passed.”

  I wait for Cuzzo to continue but he has to make the sign of the cross before telling me more. I roll my eyes because he’s not even Catholic, there isn’t a Catholic church within a thirty mile radius of this small town. I, on the other hand, grew up Catholic thanks to my mother who saw the importance of making appearances, never mind what the priest actually had to say.

  “Christmas Day, her mother went to Kirksville, volunteering and serving dinner to the homeless, but she didn’t make it home alive. She was hit head on by a semi-truck, the driver had dozed off. When the medics got to the scene, her radio was blaring salsa music, giving an upbeat tone to a deadly situation. Of course, the truck driver made it but Sawyer’s mother passed instantly.”

  “Damn, that sucks.” I stroke my beard, picturing the scene Cuzzo describes.

  Cuzzo chuckles and shakes his head. “A man that’s seen war and the best you come up with is ‘that sucks.’ We really need to work on your vocabulary, Garrison.”

  I mutter a few choices words in Arabic and smile. “How’s that for an expanded vocabulary?”

  Cuzzo shakes his head, cursing back at me in another dialect. “You be nice to that young lady. She’s going through alot right now, Garrison, so don’t be an asshole.”

  Laughing at my grandfather’s words, I nod. “You got it. Know where she lives?”

  Cuzzo gives me the address and I know exactly which house he’s talking about. Tying my boots, I head out the door and make my way across town thinking about everything I know about Sawyer Kingham. She’s heartbroken over the loss of her mother but trying to be a badass on the outside. I think we’ll get along great.