Chapter Four #3
Jillian inhaled deeply. “But I did some research. More than forty percent of readers like mystery. Most likely women make up a chunk of that since they read more than men on the whole scale. That said, you need to put a woman in your books. Maybe a sidekick for Adam, or perhaps a woman that did something horrible and Adam felt sorry for her. You just need a female figure in there that the ladies can relate to.”
“You are a day late and a few chapters short. I’m doing that very thing in the book I’m working on now. She’s a female detective and assigned to be his partner. Adam likes working alone, so he’s having to adjust. She brings some emotional baggage to the story.”
“Then I can’t wait to read it when it comes out,” Jillian said. “And since we are declared friends now, do you want to sit on the porch with me, have a beer, and watch the sunset?”
“Well, we are two consenting adults, so I suppose we don’t have to ask our parents if we can have a beer or sit together on your porch,” he joked.
“What do you mean adults?” she said in mock seriousness. “I’m only thirty-three. In today’s techie world, that computes to about eighteen.”
Wyatt took a step back and studied her face. Her eyes weren’t as sad as they had been. “What were you like as a teenager?”
“Not happy. Moved around from place to place,” she answered. “You changed the subject.”
“Yes, I did. Like we agreed, friends can do that. Were you a military brat like me?”
“Not at all. I was a foster child,” she finally admitted.
“My mother was an addict and died of an overdose when I was three. I’d been in the house with her for a couple of days and thought she was just sleeping, until one of her dealers came by and found her dead.
The powers—that’s what I called the police and social service people until I learned better—came and moved me to my first foster home.
Bunny, the lady there, told me she was my new mama.
I kept expecting her to die, but she didn’t.
She just smoked like a chimney and drank up all the government money. ”
“I’m so sorry,” Wyatt whispered. Just like he had thought when he first saw the haunted look in her eyes, Jillian had survived in a harsh world that she still had not completely left behind. He could see the pain in her expression of a past that still had a hold on her.
Jillian shrugged. “I don’t usually—no, that’s not right—I’ve never told anyone that before.
After living on the edge of being starved to death in that home, the powers moved me to another one.
The lady in the new place made a box of macaroni and cheese and set me up at the table with a full bowl.
We ate a lot of that and pork and beans with chopped-up wieners in them, and biscuits out of a can, the months I was there, but I didn’t mind.
Then the powers came back and arrested the foster father for molesting one of the little girls.
The cops hauled him and his alcoholic wife away in a police car and put me and the rest of the girls in a group home, and that’s the story of my life until I aged out of the system.
I lived in too many places to count, but all of them were in Texas.
“But enough about all that. Do not pity me, Wyatt. I am not a victim. I am a survivor. Right now, let’s get the table moved and my toaster plugged in. I’ve been craving one of my toaster pastries since we started home. Did I tell you I’m addicted to them?”
“Yes, you are.” He picked up the table like it was made of feathers and toted it across the room. “But going back to the toaster things, is it safe to feed them to you after midnight?”
She frowned and removed a pocket knife from her purse to open the microwave box. “What has that got to do with anything?”
“Didn’t you ever watch The Gremlins?”
“I never watched much television.” She hesitated as if deciding how much to say. “The adults usually had control over what was on the TV, and I would rather be drawing or coloring.”
Wyatt pulled the microwave from the box and set it on the table.
“It’s an old movie, but I saw it on television when I was a kid.
It’s about these cute little creatures that had to be kept away from light, especially sunlight, which would kill them.
You couldn’t let them come in contact with water, and above all, you never let them eat after midnight. ”
Jillian ripped open the toaster box. “What happened if you did those things?”
“They multiplied and became monsters.”
“I can sure enough understand where you got your start in writing,” she said with half a giggle.
“Only the monsters in my books are real people, not science fiction critters …” He paused. “At least they are in my head when I’m writing their stories.”
Jillian turned at the same time he did, and they slammed into each other. He wrapped his arms around her and quickly took a step back so they wouldn’t both tumble to the ground.
“Damn, Molly,” she whispered. “I tripped over her.”
Wyatt heard something, but it didn’t register.
The only thought he could grasp was that her full lips were made for kissing.
Her dark lashes fluttered shut and she rose up on her tiptoes.
He was not prepared for the electricity that shot through his body when their lips met, or for the disappointment when the kiss ended.
“I thought we were just friends,” she panted.
“If there can be kissing cousins, then maybe we can be kissing friends,” he whispered softly.
“I like that idea,” she said, and leaned in for seconds.