She entered the house that should have been a home, hanging up her jacket and leaving her melancholy at the door. She was immediately greeted by the aroma of homemade jambalaya. Not only had Brock left her the house, he’d left her his mother.
“You’re right on time.” Virginia Johnson scurried around the kitchen, the only hint of her 65 years being the slight limp caused by a prematurely needed hip replacement last year. She had survived the birth of three boys at home without anesthesia or a doctor. Her husband had passed of testicular cancer almost four years ago, and she’d managed to gather her inner strength and keep going. It had been a tumble down the stairs of the Memphis courthouse that physically crippled her and made her dependent on her youngest son.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Virginia said, moving into the nook of the kitchen where they shared most of their meals.
Erika didn’t have the heart to tell her she’d eaten earlier. “We didn’t bring you here to cook, Mom. I’m supposed to be taking care of you.”
“I can’t putz around this big house all day doing nothing. You kids work all day. I like keeping house. It’s a perfect match. Go wash up.”
“How did physical therapy go today?” Erika asked as she headed to the nearest powder room. She would have to ignore her full belly and eat at least one bowl of jambalaya. She’d done a good job of keeping her relationship away from Brock’s mother. She didn’t want to explain she’d already eaten dinner this evening.
“I made it through.” Virginia hated her therapy sessions, but she went because Brock made a big fuss when she didn’t.
Erika washed up and joined Virginia for dinner.
“Is Brock far behind you?”
She almost dropped the basket of fresh bread. “What?”
Virginia tended to forget minor details. Like the fact her son had left her daughter-in-law seven months ago.
“Brock called earlier. He said he was coming for dinner tonight.” She beamed. “I fixed his favorite meal. I’m wondering if we should start without him.”
“He didn’t say anything about coming over when I saw him at the hospital.”
“Well, you know he doesn’t like to put his personal business on display at work. Maybe we can start on the bread, but wait for Brock for the jambalaya.”
Erika sat speechless as Virginia prattled on about something cute her youngest grandson had told her over the phone. Maybe Brock had changed his mind and now he was ready to sign the divorce papers. She pictured the glossy black packet tucked away in her top dresser drawer. Maybe Brock was coming by so they could sit down and tell Virginia together they would not be reconciling. Maybe he simply wanted to have dinner with his mother—he did at least once a week, but usually out of the house. Maybe he’d forgotten some important papers in the upstairs office they’d once shared. Maybe…maybe…maybe. Hadn’t she promised herself there would be no more maybes? No more tearful hours spent trying to understand why Brock had done what he’d done.
“Sorry I’m late.” The throaty tone of Brock’s voice dripped over her like sweet honey.
She didn’t need to turn around to know he filled the doorway behind her. He went to his mother and kissed her cheek before taking the seat between them at the head of the table. She hated he felt comfortable enough to sit there. She hated she didn’t want to tell him to move.
He’d changed the aesthetic white lab coat for a gray jacket to match his slacks. The man knew how to wear a suit. The fabric melded against his biceps, his pants legs perched atop expensive slip-ons. Deceptively large, he appeared wiry until he took you into his arms and embraced you in his muscular protection.
“Hi, Erika,” he said, his voice not betraying how the uncomfortable situation affected him.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming by.”
“I didn’t think you’d be here…since you already ate dinner.”
Virginia piped in, happy to have a miniature version of her family together, no matter the circumstances. “We’re all here now. Let’s eat. Say the blessing, Brock.”
After dinner came peach cobbler. Brock and Virginia chatted away about nieces and uncles and cousins, reliving their time in Memphis. Erika picked over her bowl of cobbler, smiling politely when Virginia looked her way. She didn’t have much appetite, and it had nothing to do with the fact that this was her second dinner of the evening. They had an agreement—Brock had walked out, his open invitation to visit the house had been rescinded. He had to call and clear it with her if he wanted to stop by. Dropping in without warning and eating diner together as a family was no longer on the menu.
“I’ll clean up the dishes, Ma,” Brock said, speaking to his mother adoringly.
He never offered to do anything concerning the kitchen.
“I am a little tired,” Virginia said, pushing away from the table. “I think I’ll go to bed early.”
“Take the elevator up,” Erika called after her, noticing the increase in her limp.
“Good night,” Virginia called, heading for the stairs. The elevator had been installed specifically for her use, but she rarely took the tiny car upstairs. Taking the elevator meant admitting she was handicapped, and she’d never accept the label.
As soon as she was out of sight, Erika turned to Brock.
“Thank you for letting my mother stay here.”
“I’d never ask her to leave. This is her home.”
Brock nodded, spooning another helping of cobbler into his bowl.
“What’s going on?”
He leveled a look at her.
“Brock? What’s going on with you? You’ve been so up and down lately. You showed up here tonight for some reason. Are you going to tell me?” The more questions she asked, the more she wanted to know, and needed to say. “What you’re doing isn’t right. You’re mom doesn’t understand what’s going on between us. Just when I think I know what you want, you tell me I’m wrong. I don’t know what to expect from you. I can’t explain what’s happening, and it’s making me very uncomfortable.”
“Erika,” he whispered, stopping her rambling.
“What?” she asked too harshly.
“I’m moving back in.”
CHAPTER 4
The day Brock decided he needed to make love to Erika, he broke it off with the other woman he’d been seeing. He’d come to the realization after six months of dating he had to get as close to Erika as possible—mentally and physically. It became a compulsion, and his thoughts never ventured far from how their first intimate experience together would be. Every time she innocently brushed up against him or touched his hand during dinner, his mind scrambled and his body went haywire. He’d never wanted a woman as badly as he wanted her, and he was scared to death the actual experience wouldn’t be as good as his fantasies.
He’d met the other woman while picking up his dry cleaning. They’d bumped into each other a few times, but that particular day a lingering glance made him bold enough to approach her. She was pretty and had a witty personality, was ambitious and sweet. He dated her for two months before meeting Erika at work over a shared patient. The other woman—he couldn’t remember her name all these years later—would have been a good catch, she just wasn’t Erika.
He’d never been