Authors: Coo Sweet
Loose (6 page)
"You're crushing me, boy! Sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, Ma. Promise."
She peered over his shoulder again spying the dirty linen.
"Why are you changing your sheets this time of night?"
"They're funky. Trying to help you out."
Nadine creased her forehead and lowered her chin, obviously skeptical. Yeah, right, OCD Boy. You don’t know the meaning of funky, she thought. What are you up to? She leveled her eyes on him with a steely gaze that dared him to look away or even think about lying.
"What're you trying to hide, Sage?"
Sage grinned, "Come on, Ma. Nothing. I swear."
"What'd you do tonight?" She stepped closer to him. Trying to get another whiff of his breath and clothes.
"Saw a movie. Nothing special.”
Nadine surveyed the room with laser-like vision. In very precise sections. Bed--check. Top of dresser--check. Closet and bathroom--check, check. She probed carefully, searching for any signs of that smoking gun that would blow Sage’s flimsy story out of the water and support her suspicion.
"You get home at a reasonable time?" she grilled him.
"Of course, Ma."
"Good. And you haven’t forgotten that I don’t allow any bootie popping or belly rubbing up in here. Right? Or heads--"
"...Will roll. Got it, Ma." Sage couldn’t help but laugh at the irony. Nope, none of that happening here.
"You'd better make sure you’ve got it. With all those fast girls sniffing after you...never know what might happen. Little hoochie-coochie mamas are ruthless these days. Not like when I was coming up." Sage bit his lip to keep from laughing.
"What girls, Ma?"
"Lots of girls. Whoever. You know what I mean. Just don't want you falling for any old big butt and a smile, son."
"Don’t worry. I’m too smart for tricks like that. All of this is a hoochie-coochie mama dead zone," Sage waved his arms around his body.
Nadine had to laugh in spite of her serious conviction on the subject. She hugged him again, pecked him on the mouth, then she turned him in the direction of the bed and swatted his butt.
"Alright, long as we're clear. Now get in that bed."
"I'm going, Ma. Love you."
"Love you, too, baby. Good night."
The instant she left, Sage dragged the notebook from under his bed. He flipped through the pages. He wrote furiously with a big scowl marking his face. The scowl was there for two reasons. First, he hated lying--to his mother, to Peyton, and to himself, but there was really no getting around it. He had a part to play, and this was the only way he knew how to play it.
Second, he knew from experience that his nightly trek down memory lane would most likely be brutal. He wasn’t looking forward to it. Not that he ever did, but sometimes the pain of reliving that day was sort of cathartic, instead of just being haunting.
Yeah, sleep that night would most definitely be torture--not therapy. He’d gone way too far with Raven. Serenity would surely make him pay for his infidelity to her memory and the promise he’d made to her.
She always made him pay.
The next morning, Sage swiped at his buzzing alarm clock to shut it off. He didn’t feel rested and could have used a few more hours of sleep, but he climbed out of bed with no hesitation.
He started making it up right away, surprised at how warm the mattress and linen were. That was strange--because the air in his room had felt like an arctic freeze the entire night.
Sage was methodical with the mundane chore. Lumps and creases were defenseless against his exacting hands. When he finished he stood back and inspected his work from a couple of angles, fully prepared to make adjustments wherever necessary.
There were a lot of things he felt he couldn’t control in his life…but neatness and order? That he could control.
Sage moved to the closet. He gathered several outfits from the color coordinated, perfectly even rows of tops and bottoms. He held up different combinations of shirts and pants. He placed each one back on the rod before he chose the next.
Sage cast a critical eye toward every outfit in a full-length mirror that hung inside the closet door. He was totally engrossed in every detail of the day’s ensemble, right down to choosing a pair of shoes from the multi-slotted fixture at the very back of his immaculate walk-in.
Behind him, Sage heard his dad clear his throat. Halloran was in his forties, handsome, and jovial. He was dressed to kill in an expensive designer suit and crisp white shirt. No mistaking where Sage got his flair for putting together a great look.
"Morning, Sage."
"Hey, Dad. What’s up?"
"You have a good night?"
"Depends. You playing good cop or bad cop?"
"Alright, boy. Don’t play with me. Answer the question." Halloran sounded serious, but the corners of his mouth did turn up a teeny bit.
He draped a colorful silk tie around his collar and knotted it with expert fingers while maintaining eye contact with Sage.
"I know, Dad…respect."
"Damn straight. Don’t forget it.” Halloran clucked out of the side of his mouth and winked at Sage.
“So? What did you and Peyton get into?”
Sage’s stomach clenched at the flashback of the night’s events.
"Some crappy movie he picked. What about you and Mom?"
"Usual stuff. Kicked some butt at the card table. Tiff asked about you."
"Really? How's she looking these days?"
"You trying to get me in trouble?" Halloran tipped his head toward his son. He reached out and roughed up the hair on top of Sage’s head.
Sage patted it back into place as soon as Halloran put his hand down.
"Guess I should call her, huh?"
"Sounds like a plan, my man. What’s the harm?”
Sage tensed inside. Right…if only you knew, Dad.
“Been a while since you brought a girl home,” Halloran rambled on.
Sage bunched and twisted the clothes in his hands, shuffled his feet like he had to pee. He felt a few beads of sweat pop up on his upper lip.
"Dang, I better get dressed. Don’t want to be late for school."
"Alright. Same here. Have a good day, pal."
"Thanks, Dad. You, too." Sage gave him an anemic smile and a weak chest bump.
Downstairs, Sage ate a banana at the kitchen counter. He guzzled juice between bites.
Nadine came in, purse and keys in hand. She gave him the side eye when she saw his paltry choices for breakfast.
“That all you're eating? You okay, pooh? You look pale."
"I'm fine. This will hold me until lunch," Sage said.
Nadine adjusted the collar of his shirt. She brushed imaginary lint from his shoulders--which slumped by reflex, ready to cart the weight of the lecture that was sure to come.
"You need to eat better, Sage. Get more sleep. I worry about you."
"Ma, please--" Sage whined, with a little too much bass in his voice.
"Hey, pump your brakes now. Don't let your mouth write a check your ass can't cash."
"I'm not getting fresh, Ma." He pressed his lips together in a not so subtle pout.
"Then fix your face and lose the attitude. Okay?"
"Sorry. Can I go now?" This time he remembered to check his tone of voice.
Nadine dismissed him with a queenly wave of her hand.
"You coming straight home after school?"
"Yeah, I need to study for a quiz."
“Well hit the books as soon as you get here."
"I will.” He quickly pushed down any lingering traces of his hurt feelings, and flashed a goofy grin at his mother.
“Can I please get some cash, Ma? I'm tapped."
“Boy, I gave you forty yesterday. Where'd it go?"
“Movies. Lunch. Gas." Sage ticked off the list on his fingers.
Nadine rolled her eyes, opened her purse and rooted around in her wallet. She extracted a twenty, waving it at him.
Raven’s demand for a trip to the mall briefly crossed Sage’s mind, but he batted the thought away like a pesky fly.
"Better make it last," said Nadine.
Sage slipped the money from her fingers in exchange for sloppy kisses on her cheek.
"Stop, Sage...my make-up!"
He grinned and backed off. He grabbed his things on the dash to the door.
"Thanks, Ma. Love you,” he called over his shoulder.
"Yeah, yeah. Lucky me." Nadine swung her purse at his departing backside.
Chapter 6Sixteen year old Jasmin Grace was a subtle beauty like the flower she was named for. Her quirky clothes--a peasant skirt and crocheted top--along with the untamed mop of sandy colored curls on her head, and skin free from make-up illustrated her tendency toward the unconventional.
Just by looking at her you could tell she was that rare teen-aged girl who gave little regard to what others thought of her.
Jasmin bustled around a bright, airy kitchen. She poured herself a steaming cup of jasmine tea then she plucked some fruit and yogurt from the fridge. She carried her breakfast to the dining table. Where she sat and started reading the morning paper. Soon, approaching footsteps interrupted her reading.
“Morning,” Jasmin looked up and beamed at her mom.
Sonnet Grace was an earthy looking woman in her late 30's. Her casual business slacks and stylish fitted blouse accentuated her trim body. Sonnet studied Jasmin from the kitchen doorway.
“Morning, baby. How're you doing? Nervous about school?” She walked over and kissed the top of Jasmin’s head. Sonnet raised a hand to smooth her daughter’s ornery tresses, but she had second thoughts and dropped her hand instead.
“Nah, I'm good. You nervous about it?”
Sonnet poured herself a cup of coffee. She took a seat across from Jasmin at the table.
“Please. You know your mama has nerves of steel. Anyway, what's there to be nervous about? The fact that you're going to a high school with more people than the entire population of the town we just moved from? Pffft! Piece of cake. I can handle it.”
Sonnet rustled through the sections of the newspaper and laid the pages out on the table when she found the one she was looking for.
“Mom, there's nothing to worry about. This'll be an adventure for me; A chance to explore different things; Meet new people. I'll be fine.”
“Will you really? Everybody here seems so...I don't know...serious. They don't smile, don't speak. That's not us. What was I thinking, Jas? Bringing us here?”
Jasmin reached across the table. She grabbed her mother's hand.
“You can't be serious, Mom. You're writing for one of the biggest papers in the country. This is your dream. Besides, after the mess with Dad what choice did you have? I sure didn't want to stay back there.”
Sonnet clasped Jasmin's hand in hers.
“I didn't bring us here to get away from your dad, Jasmin. You know that. ”
“Oh, right. I forgot. The separation was his idea, not yours.”
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