Chapter 5
Harrison
“Oh, that’s it. Just like that,” I moan. The temptress above me lets out a giggle as she drapes a pair of black, barely there panties over my face, all the while riding my cock like a professional bull rider. I knew she’d be a perfect fit, but I wasn’t prepared for the captivating way she’d undulate above me.
My hands wrap around her full hips before sliding down to the globes of her ass as she steadily rocks back and forth. I’m so close to the edge, I could come at any moment. The feel of this curvy creature has me drenched in sweat.
“So good, baby. You feel so good.” I want to pull her down so I can suck from her pretty tits—
Knock, knock.
The room spins as my mind whirls in confusion until my movements come to an abrupt halt, my eyes instantly fixed on the door.
Fuck. Is she married? Does he have guns in the house? Am I going to make it out of this situation alive?
Knock, knock.
“Shit,” I blurt. The second set of knocks breaking through my stupor. It’s then that I discover I’m all alone here, my grip wrapped tightly around the base of my dick like so many mornings since this construction job at Candy Cane Key Medical Center began. I hastily tuck myself back into my boxer briefs and swing my legs over the side of the bed. My balls are aching in protest at the interruption. Shaking my head, I try to ensure I’m fully awake before heading to the door. I’m fairly certain of what I’ll find. Yet, I have to admit, around here, I never quite know for sure.
Turning the knob, I cautiously crack the door to find my mother standing on the other side. Her salt and pepper colored hair is disheveled, and along with her favorite flannel nightgown, she’s wearing her usual blank expression.
“Oh, Carolyn. You lost? It’s entirely too early to visit with Harrison,” Joyce cajoles before I can utter a word.
I wipe the sweat from my brow before running my hand through my morning bed head, nervous of what my mother’s nurse may have overheard emanating from my room. I’m sure she’s used to surprises, caring for an elderly woman with profound dementia. Yet, I’ve chosen not to divulge to Joyce that her client’s son has been repeatedly visited by an extroverted sex fairy lately.
“I’m so sorry, Harrison. I was in the kitchen and didn’t hear her get up.”
“It’s okay.” Thankfully, I learned to lock my door ages ago. I make a feeble attempt to cover for my sweaty appearance. “Is the air conditioner on the fritz? It feels warmer than usual this morning.”
“Oh, that’s my fault. Your mother seemed to have a chill last night. She was so cold her lips were practically blue. I only adjusted the temp a few degrees. Once I found a fuzzy sweater and a pair of socks, she seemed to warm up quickly. But I completely forgot to turn the air back to where you like it.”
Hmmm. Wasn’t expecting to discover another reason for my overheated presentation this morning. “No, no. It’s fine.” My mother’s always been cold natured. She’s small and doesn’t expel a lot of body heat like I do. Spending most of my days in unbearable temperatures, I like to come home to my cool, comfortable sanctuary. No wonder my poor mother has always preferred flannel in Florida. I probably should adjust the thermostat to accommodate her better. “Leave it where she’s comfortable. I’ll be fine.”
Stretching my arms overhead, I attempt to get myself in gear. “Probably a good thing she woke me. Should’ve been up long before now. I need to grab a quick shower before I head to the site.” I leave out that most of mine have been cold lately, trying to tamp down my inappropriate thoughts of the nurse who visits me in my dreams.
“C’mon, Carolyn. Let’s give your son some privacy. I’ve got your coffee and a danish ready for you.” Joyce slides an arm through my mother’s and guides her toward the stairs. Shutting the door behind me, I run a palm down my face. I never quite know how the morning will greet me these days. I guess I should be relieved she didn’t walk in on me with someone.
Although, it wouldn’t be the first time that happened.
Walking into the pristine white marble ensuite, I drop my boxers before reaching into the shower to turn on the spray. There’s no longer a need to make it frigid. My mother’s impromptu appearance squelched my body’s response to overheated thoughts of pretty health care workers in tantalizing panties.
Okay, I’m an ass man. I admit it.
Realizing I need this shower to be lightning fast if I want to avoid Gus’s wrath, I make swift work of lathering up. I really need to get my shit together. I own Hightower Construction, not my foreman. But I’ve become much more burnt out on life than by the UV rays of the Florida sun. It’s as if I wake up tired. And I’m barely in my thirties.
Running my soapy hands through my hair, I recall my mother’s pride when I first ventured into this business. I was young, but bound and determined to make something of myself. I’d graduated North Pole University with a degree in business. This town is nuts. The only college here and that’s what they come up with. As bad as the name was, I stayed to remain close to my mother. And tuition was as cheap as I was going to find anywhere in the state. Let’s just say I don’t have my diploma hung proudly on my office wall for a reason.
At twenty-one years of age, I formulated a promising business plan and worked hard. There’s no denying I wanted to succeed, if only to stick it to my dad that I’d done it without him. I took construction jobs in the area and learned from the ground up. It became clear that respect was earned in this line of work. And the best way to merit that was to perform an honest day’s work, keep a professional attitude at all times, be willing to help your neighbor, and follow through on your commitments.
Within a few short years, I’d gathered a team of reliable, hard-working crew members and slowly we made a name for ourselves amongst companies of significantly larger caliber. I thank the Candy Cane Key effect for this good fortune. For I’m certain I wouldn’t have had the opportunities life has shown Hightower Construction if such a small, inexperienced, young group of men had tried this anywhere else.
This tiny beach town is all about loving one’s neighbor. If you do the right thing by the people here, good will come back to you. Not to mention, Candy Cane Key is rooted in Christmas spirit. And not just in December or the Christmas in July festivities held each year. There’s something to be said for believing in miracles.
If only that extended to a cure for Alzheimer’s.
Turning off the water, I step out to dry off, my gaze landing on a framed crossword puzzle over my vanity. I’d hung it with pride after building this house, to remind me each morning how blessed I’d been to have a parent who wanted me when no one else had. Who loved me like no one I’d ever known. I wouldn’t be the man I am today without her.
I need a five-letter word for intelligent I’d asked my mother at the dining table. There were early signs of memory loss before Mom even hit fifty. For years, I ignored the needling concerns until it became obvious with each misplaced everyday item and increasingly more common household accidents. My online research seemed to point to brain exercises like crossword puzzles and mind training games to aid in keeping thoughts sharp. So, we started making a ritual of it over dinner.
Harry , she’d hastily written into the five square boxes, instantly putting an end to the game as all the surrounding answers would no longer fit. I’d chastised her about it, but she insisted she was correct and there was no debating it. Her little ritual would sporadically return, filling me with a sense of pride that only a mother’s love could bring.
I need a five-letter word for resilient.
Harry , she’d mutter aloud as she scribbled the answer into the tiny boxes.
A melancholy laugh tumbles from my lips, simultaneously causing that familiar ache in my chest to reemerge. Alzheimer’s has stolen so much from her now. From both of us. Not only her memory, but her vibrant personality. There are times she’s like a small child, requiring Joyce or myself to lead her to wherever she needs to go. That vicarious, positive force for good now lost to this horrendous disease.
I quickly run some product through my hair, apply deodorant that will probably only last an hour or two in this heat, and go in search of work pants and a T-shirt to redirect my mood before it gets any worse. There’s no sense dwelling on it. Joyce and I are doing as much as humanly possible to give my mother the best life we can. Sadly, we’re not alone in this. Millions of families struggle. The last I looked, I’d read that almost six million people in the US are afflicted with Alzheimer’s, and this is projected to nearly triple by the time I’m her age. Unless some modern miracle develops, I have to accept things for what they are.
Bzzz. Bzzz.
Putting my car quickly in park, I grab my phone from where it’s lying on the center console, a welcome smile crossing my face as I see my friend Charlene’s pretty picture on the screen. “Hey. This is a surprise. You never call this early. Everything okay?”
“Yeah. I have an early morning add on at the salon, so I decided to grab a cup of coffee and head on in. I keep thinking about the other night at The Wild Shrimp. Harry, I haven’t laughed like that in so long. I’ve gotten completely mired down in work and adulting. Any chance you’re free for dinner tonight? I need to make more of an effort to fit fun into my life.”
A gratifying grin crosses my face as I see the little white shuttle bus dropping off employees at the curb across from the emergency room. “It’s easy to do. Hell, Char, I think that was the first time I’d been out in months.”
“Well, it was so impromptu, we barely had time to catch up on anything significant. We laughed like hyenas the whole time. I’ve got appointments booked back-to-back all day. Why don’t you pick up something for dinner and bring it over around 7:00?”
“Sure, that sounds great. What do you think you’d like?”
“Truth? I’d give my next weekend off in exchange for Elliot’s chicken,” she whines.
“God, me too. My brother scored in more ways than one.” I laugh.
My little brother had apparently had a thing for a girl he went to high school with. He’d been a star athlete in school and, unlike me, found himself befriended by the popular clique. He had an outgoing personality and managed to hide the fact that we were living paycheck to paycheck after our father left. There’s no way that spoiled rich kid crowd would’ve let him into their inner circle had they known, good looking, gregarious soccer player or not.
This same group of elitists made sport out of tearing down those beneath them, and Elliot was their prime target. Matt’s then girlfriend was the ringleader. It made him guilty by association. Ellie secretly had similar feelings for my brother. Yet, she fought them given his friendship with that gang of evil assholes who had too much time on their hands to do anything constructive with their life besides bully those less fortunate.
Ellie was a sweet kid who grew to be a kind and giving young woman. Similar to our situation, she was abandoned by her birth parents. Her biological grandparents stepped up to raise her and she likely turned out all the better for it. Her grandmother passed away, but not before teaching Ellie all of her secrets in the kitchen.
Her grandfather helped her secure a location to sell her southern delicacies. In a local gas station. Faded and weather torn, Salty Jo’s looks as if it should be condemned. Our crew has stepped up on several occasions to patch it back together after multiple tropical storms made a direct hit on the unfortunate convenience store.
But the gas station’s appearance did nothing to deter local folks from standing in line for Elliot’s southern home delicacies. That girl can cook. It only took sending my brother to Salty Jo’s one time to pick up food for the crew, and he was hooked. On the hot chick and the hot chicken.
“I was just telling him they’re overdue for a visit. Maybe we can hatch a plan to get him to bring some food back here with him.”
“Or, better yet, bring Ellie and have her cook enough that we can freeze it for days.” Char giggles. “I’ll give her free hair for life.”
Charlene and Ellie had been thick as thieves before my brother took her back to Sycamore Mountain. I know Char was as happy for them as I was. But we definitely felt their absence when they left. It’s probably what cemented our friendship, having a shared bond over missing our best friends.
“Okay, I need to get to it, or my foreman is going to call the Better Business Bureau on my ass.” I snort. “He’ll claim the owner doesn’t care about his clients and try to take over my company.”
“Aww, Gus would never do anything of the sort. He idolizes you.”
“Right.” I have to admit my weaknesses. And my management of this company has fallen short of my personal standards. “Hell, Char, I’d fire me if I could afford a replacement.”
“You’re tired. I get it. I feel the same way. Owning a business is hard. It’s work, work, work. The only thing worse is being surrounded by rich tourists who play, play, play.”
She’s right. But that’s life in a tropical tourist destination. We need to either get over it or get moving. What’s the saying, get too busy working on your own grass to notice if someone else’s is greener?
“Okay, I’ll pick up something and meet you after work. Is the bar stocked?” Charlene frequently holds salon days for brides, graduates, and various other girly events, where cocktails and champagne are a must.
“If I had to pick between restocking the bar or the hair dye, which do you think I’d start with?” She giggles.
“I’ll see you later,” I reply, feeling a little more optimistic about my day than I was moments ago.
Tucking my phone into my pocket, I begin the trek up the ladder to the second-floor platform we’re currently working from. This little hospital has needed to expand for years. The fact they awarded the contract to Hightower Construction is a real mark of distinction. I need to remember that and start treating this career with the respect and work ethic it deserves.
“Hey, Harry. Isn’t that your girl?”
My head spins so fast in my effort to look down below, the scaffolding sways beneath me. But instead of finding the beautiful brunette smiling up at me like most mornings, she’s focused dead ahead. Her facial expression is stern, wearing a dark pair of designer sunglasses, her chin tilted to the sky like a super model at New York Fashion Week. Her posture displays a defiant, Take No Shit attitude. I can practically see words printed above her, like a social media meme saying May the bridges I burn light my way.
My face falls as I continue to follow her retreating form until she disappears behind the sliding glass doors. I, again, lean so far forward in my attempt to hold on to her every move that I nearly tumble forward.
“For fuck’s sake, Harry, I know you’ve fallen head over heels for this chick, but you don’t need to make it literal.”
“Shut up.” I grumble. My disappointment washes over me like an afternoon Floridian rain shower. Except while those brief episodes can provide much needed relief, this only leaves a turbid sensation in its wake.
Had something happened? Since almost the day the crew set up shop here, we’ve exchanged flirty grins as we’ve locked eyes with one another. I know it’s juvenile, but I can’t help looking forward to her arrival each day. Sure, she doesn’t work every day. This is an emergency room. But on the days she is here, they’re always accompanied by a flirty smile.
“Aww, don’t pout, boss. Maybe Aunt Flow came to town.”
“What?”
“You know… she could be on the—”
“Okay, okay.” I finally catch where he’s going with this ridiculous conversation.
“Just trying to make you feel better,” he gripes as he returns to where he was working prior to my arrival.
I set my sights on part of the remodel I’d been fussing with yesterday before it was time to knock off for the day. But my focus is unsettled. Watching that gorgeous creature walk by with her head held high reminded me of… well, the last time I saw Stephanie.
There has only been one serious romantic relationship in my lifetime. Much like this captivating nurse, Stephanie was stunning. She had inherited a resort home from her grandfather and had consulted with us to update it. I knew there were other contractors bidding on the project. Ones with a lot more money and resources than we could bring to the table. Yet, shockingly, she selected us to complete the job, and it felt like a huge moment in my career. It wasn’t until much later that Gus, Gino, and Vince pulled me aside to share they felt something was amiss.
Stephanie was a wealthy, attractive young woman. With her long blonde hair and big blue eyes, she turned many heads in this town. I hadn’t put professional boundaries in place at that point in my career and said “yes” when she’d asked me to go for a drink one night after working on her place. We were both young, attractive, and unattached. What could the harm be in dating her?
She was as clever as the devil and twice as pretty. That’s what.
It quickly became apparent how overindulged Stephanie had been growing up. While she’d graduated from an ivy league college, she’d never worked a day in her life. At first, I thought she was merely interested in a summer fling. I mean, what could this girl see in a construction worker? But it became clear she saw me owning this company as an investment opportunity. That I’d built Hightower Construction into a successful business at such a young age might become a windfall for her if we joined forces. She constantly went on and on about getting her daddy to invest and move us forward.
But the more she pushed, the more certain I was I wanted no part of that. My own father had no problem walking away. I didn’t need hers to do the same and take his investments with him.
Stephanie couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t entertain her musings on the matter and became incensed by my tabling any conversation that veered in that direction. I’m almost certain she’d never heard the word no. And one thing became abundantly clear. Unless she was committed to only using her money to purchase the outlandish things she was interested in, I couldn’t afford to make any serious commitments to a woman with her penchant for spending.
So, when my crew became concerned that she might steamroll the company, I assured them I’d had a pointed conversation with her, and she’d let go of any thoughts of bringing in her father’s money, silent partner or otherwise. Stephanie was adamant she was in love with me and that nothing else mattered. I wanted to believe her. Hell, other than my mother and brother, no one else had ever declared such a thing and meant it.
Yet, once she started spending more time at my home, it was evident she wasn’t happy. She was used to having complete control. When I explained in no uncertain terms that my mother was my priority and would be living with me and any woman I settled down with, things began to unravel.
Steph requested more and more nights at her place. I understood needing private time together once in a while. Yet when it didn’t happen regularly, she began interviewing not only overnight caregivers but also looking into residential facilities for Mom.
My mother wasn’t an inconvenience to me. Paying for someone to watch her so I could live my life without her was no different to me than placing her in a nursing home. I wanted Mom with me. She’d devoted her life to me and Matthew. And I wasn’t leaving her alone now that the roles were reversed. Any woman who couldn’t respect the relationship I had with her wasn’t someone I planned to start a future with.
Once that final uncomfortable conversation took place, Stephanie packed her bags and placed the mint condition property we’d remodeled for her on a vacation rental site faster than you could say entitled princess. But the haughty look she wore as she marched out of my life, her sunglasses and hair flying in the breeze, was reminiscent of a Paris Hilton video. All she needed was a little dog in a stroller.
Did this nurse come from money? I can’t say that I know many wealthy people. Well, other than Stephanie and the affluent residents of Candy Cane Key who live in multimillion dollar resort homes looking for over the top updates. But none of the aforementioned would stoop so low as to work a profession in service of others. I’m certain of it.
The bell chimes overhead as I saunter inside Charlene’s salon, To Dye For, my stomach grumbling at the aroma wafting up from the to go containers in my arms. As the door closes behind me, I glance over to where Charlene is standing. Still a redhead. I never quite know what she’ll look like when I walk in. She seems to constantly re-invent herself.
“Hey, Harrison. I’m just wrapping up here.”
“Okay, Char. I’ll take these on back. Looking pretty good there, Ms. M.”
Margaret Montgomery is a staple in this town. She’s a filthy rich widow who grew up in Candy Cane Key. She’s respected by all who know her, and deservedly so.
Most people hear filthy rich widow and assume she inherited her wealth from her husband. But that guy was lucky to be married to her. She’s a classy lady who comes from old money. Old family wealth. Most of her relatives had packed up and moved to Miami, Palm Beach, or Boca Raton. Whichever location they felt was the right fit for their social class.
Word was, the family patriarch made his millions as a shipping tycoon. The rest of the family only worked hard at managing their investment portfolios. But Maggie created a charitable organization directed at those individuals who were displaced by the impact of severe tropical weather in the area. Hightower Construction has partnered with her on many a project.
Now that I think about it, I stand corrected. This selfless, affluent woman has taken on a role in service to others. May not be nursing or the like, but she has spent her life giving back.
“You’re too kind, Harrison. How is your sweet mother?”
A corner of my mouth turns down at the inquiry. I should simply be thankful people like Margaret continue to inquire about her. “Most days are good. We’re lucky to have Joyce with us. She’s really good with her.” I give her a half-hearted smile. My mother is no longer the woman Ms. Montgomery remembers. We don’t spend much time out any longer, as Mom does much better in an environment she finds comfortable. Her mind has turned old friends into strangers. It’s not only difficult for her but also me and the people that know her, to watch the awkward conversations unfold.
“Do give her my best, will you?”
Sure. I’ll try that. I know she means well, but I’ve all but given up on those lighthearted chats. It’s rare Mom speaks any longer, much less responds with anything close to acknowledgment.
“All right, you’re all done. I’ll see you back next week?” Charlene asks.
“Yes, I have a luncheon on Friday, so it will work out perfectly. Thank you, dear.”
Once I reach the dining area, I put the bag down and reach inside for the various takeout boxes, scattering them over her vintage wooden table.
Char walks in carrying a bottle of Pinot Grigio and a decanter of scotch. She knows me so well. “What’s this?” She dips her chin toward the smorgasbord of food.
“I couldn’t decide, so I went to the new place near the hospital, Fusion. They have Asian, Japanese, and Thai food. You can mix and match. So, I have shrimp lo mein, spring rolls, pad Thai, sesame chicken, sushi, and some sashimi.” I pull a bottle of water out of my back pocket and sit down.
“Wow. It’s a buffet.” She claps.
“It’s a lot, but I’ll take some of the leftovers home to Mom and Joyce.”
“It all smells so good. I’m starving.” Charlene pours one finger of scotch into a small glass tumbler for me and a tall glass of Pinot into stemware for her. “I’ve missed this.”
“Yeah. Me too. It’s my fault, Char. I’ve been working long hours at the hospital remodel and feel guilty being away from Mom.” I pop a piece of sashimi into my mouth. “Not that she’d notice I was missing.”
“Oh, don’t say that. If there’s anything she’s still keen on, I’m certain it’s you.” My sweet friend always knows the right thing to say.
There are times I question whether Charlene and I could’ve worked out as a couple. Our personalities are so similar. Yet, while we are flirty with each other when we’re out, she honestly feels more like family. You can’t fight chemistry, or lack thereof. And even though I find this proud, independent woman attractive, it simply feels like trying to force a square peg into a round hole with the two of us. We’ve settled into our relationship as friends. We fit like a pair of cozy socks on a cold day , Char had once said. Not to mention, she’s had her guard up with men since the day we met.
We frequently go to bars and restaurants together. Stand in as the other’s plus one at events or get-togethers. Yet this self-assured stunner immediately puts up a wall when someone approaches, her body turning noticeably rigid. She’s never shared details from her past, but something tells me there’s a hurt there she hasn’t quite recovered from.
My job is simply to be the best friend I can and hope she can trust I’m a safe place to fall, if and when she needs me. Maybe one day she’ll share, but ’til then, I’m not pushing. We all have our own crosses to bear. And she’s been respectful of mine.
“You seemed distracted the other night,” Char says as she twirls a forkful of lo mein.
“What do you mean?”
“I asked if you were seeing anyone, and you said no. But it wasn’t a definitive no like you usually blurt.”
“Nooo,” I state emphatically and chuckle. “Is that better?”
“Would it be so bad? You really should get back out there, Harrison.”
I put my fork down. “Look who’s talking, Char. When’s the last time you went on a date?”
Her nose wrinkles as her face takes on an uncomfortable expression. “Been with a man, or been on a date?”
Leaning back in my chair, I let my mouth fall open over dramatically. “You little harlot.”
“What? A woman has needs too.”
Lifting my glass in salute, I take a sip and let the burn of the scotch distract me from the constant ache in my chest. That hollow that keeps returning to remind me just how lonely my life has become. “You’re absolutely right. Good for you.”
“Harry.”
“What?”
“You’re in your prime. I love how devoted you are to your mother. It’s such a rare quality in a man.”
Oh, lord. Where’s she going with this?
“The day I find someone who’s half as caring and committed as you are, I’ll get down on one knee and propose myself. But you can’t live putting your whole life on the back burner.”
I thought she’d wanted to have dinner to put more fun in her life. Yet, this is starting to feel like an intervention. Instinctively, I take another sip of my scotch, my appetite folding in on itself at this conversation.
“There has to be another way. It’s a crime that you aren’t sharing yourself with someone. And don’t go trying to turn this back on me. I’m putting myself out there more than you see.”
I arch a brow at her, shocked she’s been keeping her dating life a secret.
“I have to keep some of my chances close to the vest.” She tucks a forkful of pad Thai into her mouth. “I’ll share once there’s something worthy of telling you. But I need to go this alone.”
“Char, you know you can talk to me, right?”
“Yeah. And I will, one day. But I need to fight my own battles. It’d be too easy to get caught up in our friendship. How supportive you are. Simply spend time with you, as I’ve done since Ellie left. But I’m not getting any younger.” Her eyes connect with mine, more earnest now than I’ve seen her in a long while. “And I want the fairy tale.”
Reaching for a spring roll, I dip it into the flavorful sweet and spicy sauce before biting off the end. As much as I wish Charlene would spill her secrets, having the attention off of my love life has allowed my hunger to return. “You deserve it,” I answer around the bite of food.
“So do you.” She places her well-manicured hand over mine, the bright red nails matching her shiny lipstick. I can’t help but examine it closer. That’s some powerful stuff to remain untouched after eating sesame chicken and a few pieces of Dragon roll. “You mark my words, Harrison Hightower. One of these days, some beauty is going to walk through those doors.” Charlene points her chopsticks in the direction of the street. “And it’s going to be game over.”
Dipping the sauteed chicken wrapped with thin pastry sheets into the sweet, hot red chili sauce, I lean back in my chair and savor the fiery flavors. The vision of a beautiful curvy brunette with silver gray tattoos inked on her arm striding through the locked doors comes to mind.
“You know, Char, if that day comes, I’m ready for it.”