“What’s wrong, dude?” the carnie yelled as he came closer.
“Release us,” Dubois ordered calmly. “My wife is ill.”
The carnie gave me a “you’re acting like a girl” look but I didn’t care. I just needed to get off! He unlocked our seat and walked back to the controls, making no offer to help us out. Dubois lifted me out gently and set me on the ground. My legs were shaky and I stumbled. Dubois picked me up and carried me down the steps and to the car, where he promptly placed me on the passenger’s side.
“You can drive?” I’d never asked and just assumed he could not.
“Of course. I just lived on an isle, not in the jungle.” He chuckled. “You will have to keep reminding me to stay on the right, though.”
Dubois took his time backing the car out and getting on the road. I navigated as he drove and had to remind him he could not turn left on red only once. I was feeling better, but not much, as we neared the house.
A flash of a yellow car in the distance caught my eye. Stacy? It was traveling in the opposite direction, so we never got close enough for me to tell for sure. I pushed the thought out of my mind as Dubois pulled into the driveway. Stacy wasn’t the only person in the world with a yellow car, and I did live on a public road free to any who wanted to travel it. I thought about calling her to see for sure, but I wasn’t up to an argument at that moment.
Dubois continued being the gentleman he was—he helped me out of the car, lifted me up and carried me into the house, and laid me gently on the bed. I wish I could say I still had that loving feeling from earlier, but honestly, my mood was shot. I just wanted some Pepto-Bismol and a nap.
While Dubois retrieved the Pepto and some hot tea, I listened to my messages. The first was from my father.
Daughter, if what Stacy says is true, I am past disappointed in you. I expected better from an offspring of mine. I expect you to bring you and your friend over to your mother’s and my house as soon as you receive this message. Don’t disappoint me further.
A headache started forming in the back of my skull. Beep.
Honey, ignore anything your dad might have said. You know how anal things get when he and Stacy get together. I’ll see you and your husband on Saturday. Dress for dinner, sweetie. I’m so excited!
My sweet mother. How she put up with my father all these years has been a mystery. Beep.
Dr. Charles, this is Nancy Termis at University Relations. I just received an e-mail from your department announcing your recent marriage. I’d like to get further details and your permission before we print anything. If you would, please give me a call at 501-555-8787. Thanks. I’ll wait to hear from you.
The headache became a skull tsunami. I knew Mary couldn’t resist inserting her nosy butt into my business, but this took the cake. I’d give Nancy a call to let her know in very certain terms I didn’t want my marriage announced to anyone unless I did it myself, thank you very much!
My head was pounding by the time Dubois returned with the Pepto. “You look worse.”
“I feel even worser.” Goodness, did I just use more slang? “I have messages from my mom and dad and a chick from University Relations wanting to announce our wedding.” I reached for the Pepto and the tea he held out.
“You work fast.”
I shook my head. “It wasn’t me, it was the department secretary, with her nosy self.” I grimaced as I swallowed the Pepto and the tea.
Dubois laughed. “There is one in every town. My grandmother was ours. If there was something to be told, she knew and was telling anyone and everyone who would listen.”
“My grandmother was the same way! We couldn’t do anything in the surrounding three counties without her knowing it by the next morning. One night, I spent the night at a hotel one town over. My grandmother called the house the next day talking about ‘If I hear of your hot ass being up at that hotel again, I’m gonna drive up there and pull you out by your hair…with your hot ass.’ She was a trip.”
“Sounds like she was. Will I get to meet her Saturday?”
“Probably. Granny loves a good barbecue.”
Dubois brightened. “I am glad to hear that.” He lay down beside me on the bed. I scooted over to make room.
“Don’t be too hasty. She’s kept up plenty of hell and had the men—and their women—going with her antics. If I was hot, I got it from her.”
“I sure hope so.”
I turned to look at him. “You hope so about what?”
“That you are as hot as your grandmother.” I laughed as I shook my head. “Really, I do. But despite hoping we could continue our morning session…we’ll save that for another day.” His hand began rubbing my scalp. “Want a massage to relax you and help you sleep?”
“That sounds like a great idea.”
I remembered little else as I fell asleep beneath the strokes and glides of his very capable hands.
10
The good food smells woke me. I picked out the scents of bacon and coffee, but I couldn’t quite associate the slightly cinnamon/orange smell with any of my typical breakfast fare. I stretched languidly, glad the monster headache was gone. After a quick brush through my hair and a trip to the bathroom, I ambled downstairs to find the source of the delicious smell.
Dubois was bent over, pulling a tray out of the oven when I entered the kitchen. “Hey you.”
“Hello you back.” I walked closer and we kissed lightly. “You look dashing this morn. Feeling better, eh?”
“Much.” I looked down at the tray he’d placed on the stove-top. The smell was definitely coming from the buns on the tray. “Honey buns?”
He looked surprised. “Why yes. We call them honey bite buns. You have had them before?”
“Who hasn’t? They sell them in every store down here.” I picked up a hot bun, pleased that it easily came apart under my fingers, and took a small bite. The tangy sweet flavor had my taste buds singing—until that tangy sweetness suddenly morphed into fire! I fanned at my mouth, tried to grab a glass and turn on the faucet at the same time, fumbled and dropped the glass, and finally just put my lips under the faucet and scooped cool water into my burning mouth.
Dubois was bent over laughing. I didn’t see anything funny, though. “What the hell did you put on those buns?”
“Cayenne pepper. I told you they were honey bite buns. Here,” he pushed a glass of red juice toward me, “this is what we drink with them. It takes the sting out of your mouth.”
I smelled the liquid. “Tomato juice?” He nodded and I took a sip. I have to admit, after the first sip, the burning lessened considerably. After the third, it was gone completely.
“Better?” Dubois stopped in front of me, hands moving up to rest on either side of my waist.
“Considerably.”
He grabbed another bun, broke off a small portion, and held it to my lips. “Let me show you my way to eat one.” I nodded in assent. “First, you slowly lick a small bit of icing off the top,” I did so, noting that my tongue began heating up almost immediately, “then you spread that icing all through your mouth while I take a big swallow of the tomato juice.” He did so and pulled me to him. His mouth quickly covered mine. My tongue slipped inside his mouth, felt the healing coolness of the tomato juice as it transferred between us before finally pulling back.
I tore off a piece of bun, held it up to his mouth. He opened wide as I pushed it inside. I sipped from the tomato