In Safe Hands

The 737 hit the ground hard, bounced and came down a second time barely any softer. It pretty much summed up the two-hour flight, which had been bumpy the entire way. Typical. I'd flown Kuwait to Baltimore the week before and it had been like a magic carpet ride.

I waited while passengers worked their carry-ons free barely before the wheels had stopped turning. I wondered if they had somewhere to go or was their life just a rush from one place to another. Mom would be waiting for me, but my cases wouldn't be hitting the carousel any time soon. I nodded at the stewardess, who'd been busy the whole time but friendly. She smiled back then turned away to open the doors. Folks were lined up ready, eager. I stretched my legs out into the space vacated by the man who'd been sitting next to me. I was last off, and the stewardess shook my hand, leaving a slip of paper in my palm. I put it into a pocket without looking. She was pretty, with a great figure, but I wasn't looking for anything right now, not even a one night stand.

I sat and waited, patient, while the empty carousal sat unmoving. Army life teaches you to sit every chance you get because you never know when the next opportunity might come along. Just as I didn't know when my own dark time might arrive again. Twenty-two years old and on the verge of burnout. Special Ops saw the worst of the action in the underbelly of the world, and I'd started waking in the middle of the night sweating. That I'd been able to cope with. It was when I came awake yelling they decided something needed to be done. A month's furlough. Maybe longer. They were going to evaluate me again in four weeks.

I felt fine most of the time. It was only during the small hours when the nightmares crept up on me. I couldn't even remember what it was tore me awake, only the sense of panic as consciousness came.

The carousel started up and turned for five minutes before the first bag appeared. There weren't many, it wasn't that kind of flight. I saw my backpack, obvious in desert colors, and retrieved it. Mom was waiting beyond the barrier, moving from foot to foot. I saw her before she saw me and I took a moment, reacquainting myself with how good she looked. I hadn't been home in almost four years, but looking at her she seemed unchanged. Five-six, narrow hipped and heavy breasted. She'd cut her blonde hair short. Other than that she could be my sister instead of my Mom. Then she turned her head and saw me and a grin popped across her face. She jumped up and down, waving. I noticed a few of the men looking at her and tamped down a flare of anger. Over-protective, it had always been a problem for me.

I shouldered my sac and walked to her. She jumped at me, arms around my neck, legs around my waist as she smothered my face with kisses. I managed to extricate myself and held her at arm's length as she continued to try and get back to me. I saw some of the men watching the scene with envy. I guess she did look like she could be my girlfriend. If only — I'd not had much luck in that department, picking a steady stream of the wrong kind.

Eventually Mom stopped wriggling and I loosed her. She slid an arm through mine as we walked to the parking lot, jet engines howling as planes took off behind us. The stink of kerosene brought a moment's flashback, and I took a breath deep into my belly and tried to think about nothing at all.

As we searched for Mom's car an older guy came toward us from where he'd dropped his vehicle. Straight-backed, gray-haired. I recognized him for what he was, the same as he recognized me. He glanced at us and then stopped and saluted. Without thinking I returned the salute.

"You're a lucky woman having your husband home safe," he said to Mom, and then he was gone.

Mom giggled, raised a hand to cover her mouth.

"Hey, hubby," she said, leaning against my side.

I slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her tighter. He'd been old, the guy, probably fought in the last big one, so maybe his eyesight was going.

"Easy mistake to make," I said. "You look ten years younger than you should."

Mom punched my arm. "And feel ten years older. Come on."

Mom had changed her car since the last time. Something small and Japanese and I folded my legs to fit in.

"Good flight?" she said as she pulled onto the freeway. She'd been concentrating on maneuvering through the other cars until then to spark a conversation. Such as it was.

"It landed," I said. "How about you?"

Mom frowned. "I drove." She always takes everything too literally.

"How have you been?" I said.

"Oh. Good. Sure, real good." Her eyes stayed on the road and I knew she was lying.

I wondered how hard it had been on her. She'd been alone over two years now, not that being alone was a bad thing when the alternative had been living with Greg. He'd been my stepdad for ten years. My real Dad had been a grunt, like me. Fought in the Gulf, came out fine, then totaled his car on the freeway one night. Sober. No rain. Good visibility. A couple of people tried to make out he'd done it on purpose, but I made sure they didn't say it twice. Even then I was big and mean looking. Lately I'd been wondering about what had happened. There had never been any sign from Dad, but sometimes people are good at hiding what's going on inside their head. I knew that too well these days.

"How long are you home for, Adam?" This time Mom risked a glance. She wasn't the world's best driver, but at least she was slow, which gave everyone else time to get out the way.

"A month. At least a month."

She grinned. "No way!"

"Way," I said.

"That's fantastic." She cut across two lanes heading for the exit.

"Wrong one," I said. "Unless you moved."

"Oops." She swerved back out, horns honking around us. "Next one."

"How's the shop?"

"Good," she said.

"Really?" She owned a small bakery tucked in a side street where the rent was cheaper. She'd always worked for other people, but when Dad's insurance came through she set up on her own. Greg, dad number two, sold flour when they met. Greg split for pastures new while I was on my first rotation. I hadn't been able to make it home because I was infiltrated deep in insurgent territory, living as a native. I'd called her as soon as I made it out offering to come home but she said no, she was fine. Everything was good. I should have listened harder but I was starting to have troubles of my own about then. I'd seen things nobody should have to see.

"Yes, Adam, really," she said, and I grinned and touched her shoulder. She turned to look at me and I moved my hand to steady the wheel as she drifted out of lane.

*

It was almost like a first date. There was a cloth on the table, candles on the cloth, places laid and something in the oven than smelled good. I unpacked my stuff, took a quick shower, changed into canvas chinos and a cotton shirt and came down barefoot just as Mom was kneeling to take a pot out the oven. I stood in the doorway and watched her. Took a deep breath like I had earlier, but this time the thoughts I was trying to suppress were different. Far more pleasant, but wrong all the same.

Mom glanced up, her face flushed by the heat, and smiled.

"You need a hand?"

"Open the wine," she said.

I uncorked it and set it on the table to breathe. Mom set the pot down. We sat and she ladled fragrant stew onto our plates. Chunks of warm bread, butter melting as I spread it. We talked about nothing, neither of us ready to get into anything serious. Not at first.

Then Mom said, "I got a date tomorrow. You OK with that?"

"Why shouldn't I be?"

She raised a shoulder. "I don't know. You just got back and I haven't seen you in nearly four years and I'm going out on a date. I think I should cancel."

"Don't. You got a life to lead. Don't change a thing because of me."

She reached out and touched my hand, left hers there while she sipped her wine. "I'm not sure it's a good idea anyway." She smiled. "Internet dating." She moved her hand and made quote marks in the air. "WTF?"

I laughed. "On a first date?"

She looked at me a moment, not getting what I meant, then it came to her and she smiled and touched my hand again.

"First time I ever heard you say that word, Mom."

"I didn't say it, did I?"

"Implied meaning," I said, smiling. I turned my hand so it cradled hers and she wrapped her fingers through mine. Under the table I started getting hard and felt bad about it, but not so bad I wanted to stop holding her hand. "How long you been internet dating?"

"Couple months."

"How's it going?"

She made a rocking motion with her free hand. "You ever tried it?"

I shook my head.

"Bunch of losers." She raised her eyes and met mine. "Bunch of f'ing losers."

I laughed. "Hey, better. I heard plenty of cussing, Mom, you don't need to hold back on my account."

She lifted the free hand again and gave me the finger.

I reached out, grabbed it and kissed the tip. Gooseflesh broke out along her arms.

"Wanna show me? This date tomorrow? Or it is all a big secret?"

"No, no secret," she said.

I let go her hand, the moment getting a little awkward. I poured the last of the wine into our glasses, got up and followed her into the family room. She leaned over the desk and turned on her laptop. I stared at Mom's ass, wondering how long I could hold out before having to leave this house. Was it my own state of mind, or had I always felt this way about her? I'd always known she was beautiful, but until now it had been the kind of beauty you put on a pedestal, untouchable. My friends at school always said Mom was hot and I'd laughed about it, punched a few who went too far. But damn, she

was

hot.

"What do you think?" She sat in the chair and I stood beside her, leaning over to see the screen.

A guy in his forties, short hair receding at the front, needed to lose a few pounds — damn, more than a few.

"Name?" I said.

"Mike Prentice."

"Job?"

"Banker."

I suppressed a smile, thinking of what the British SAS guys I'd worked alongside would say to that.

"Rich banker?"

"Duh," Mom said.

I rested a hand on her shoulder. Felt the raised line made by the strap of her bra.

"Where?"

"There's a new place on the Heartville road. Does Thai food. You like Thai don't you, Adam?"

"Sure. What about Mike Prentice? Was this place his idea or yours?"

I might've kinda suggested it," Mom said. She leaned her head so her cheek touched the back of my hand and I was aware my arousal was probably showing if she chose to look, which I hoped she wouldn't.

"But he didn't say no."

"Men don't, do they?"

"How many?" I said, and she knew exactly what I meant.

"Mike's the..." She had to think for a minute, touching her fingertips with her thumb as she counted. "The tenth."

"In how long?"

"A year."

"Any lead to anything?"

She closed the lid of the laptop but didn't get up. "Like in did I sleep with any of them?" she said, not looking at me. I drew my hand away and walked to the sofa. After a while she got up, came over and sat along it from me, lifted her feet and placed them across my lap. Good move, Mom. I shifted so my partial boner wasn't against her feet.

"Yeah, something like that," I said.

"Once," she said.

"Uh-huh. It's good you're getting some. How was it?"

"It was OK."

"Only OK?" I took one of her feet in my hands and began to knead it. She had always liked it when I did that. Seemed she still did.

"I might be a bit out of practice," Mom said.

"So it's your fault, not his? You sure about that?"

She lifted her shoulders and shifted to get comfortable. "How come you're so good at that?"

"Strong hands," I said.

She smiled.

"Nobody else?" I said. "One in ten, that's all?"

"Dicks," Mom said. "All the others were dicks."

"How about this Mike tomorrow?"

"Don't know, but the odds are he'll be another dick."

"Why the internet?" I said. "You must know plenty of men. And it's not like you're not one hot piece of ass."

Mom smiled. "Is it all right for you to say that about me?"

"I'm your son, Mom, not dead or blind."

"The men I know are married, gay or too old to get it up."

"How can you tell?"

"There's a look. Besides, I'm hot, you just said so. So I need a hot stud to match me."

I laughed and shifted to the other foot, but she pulled it away. "Not finished with that one yet, kiddo." She stretched out more and when I laid her foot back in my lap I allowed it to rest against my erection, almost fully hard now. I was curious to see how she'd react, but she did nothing. I started working her foot again, kneading the muscles of her calves and she jerked and sighed, closed her eyes.

When I believed I'd dissolved the bones in her right leg I switched over. Mom mumbled something and arched her back. I stared at her, given permission by her passivity and the fact her eyes were closed. I leaned over a little and stared at the mounds of her breasts. Leaned closer still. Damn, but her nipples were hard.

By the time I finished she was asleep. I slid out, drank some water and climbed the stairs. Then guilt got the better of me and I went back down, shook her until her eyes open.

"Bedtime, Mom," I said.

She nodded, smacking her lips. Still beautiful.

"Do something for me, Adam?"

"Sure."

"Make me some hot milk. A spoon of honey and a tot of rum. The rum's in the cabinet next to the sink."

I smiled. This was something new.

By the time I'd warmed her milk she'd gone upstairs. I heard her in the bathroom and put the mug on the nightstand and went to my own room. I woke at 3am, a cry trapped against the roof of my mouth.

I knew I wouldn't sleep again. Knew too that Mom would be up in an hour to start the day's baking. I went downstairs and booted her laptop and checked the guys she'd shortlisted on the dating site. Hey, I was her son. I was looking out for her well-being is all.

*

I drove Mom to the bakery on Peach Tree road, considering it the safer option. Mom sat quiet beside me, eyes heavy-lidded.

"You don't have to do this," she said. She reached across and touched my side, like she had to offer something, some token.

"I want to," I said.

"Mm. Thanks, then."

First job was to start the ovens, then mix dough. There were big steel vats with large hooks. I'd worked in the bakery before, helping out from the age of fourteen, and still remembered Mom's so called secret recipes. I measured them out for the sourdough and rye loaf and started the machines going. Mom mixed a softer dough for the beignets and donuts and her speciality iced rolls stuffed with peel and currants. Most days she would have to do everything herself, so with me alongside it was a whole lot easier.

As the first loaves went into the ovens I made coffee and leaned against the worktop drinking it while I watched her knead dough. The tendons in her arms stood out, her body tightening as she leaned into the dough. On each thrust her breasts swayed, flattened, and I watched, mesmerized. So mesmerized I was taken aback when she spoke.

"Huh?"

Mom gave a smile and I knew she'd caught me out.

"Want to start measuring the beignets, Adam?"

"Sure."

She returned to her work. I pressed past her, my hands on her waist for a moment, staying there a little longer than necessary and she gave me a look, a smile. She had flour on her cheek and I used my thumb to wipe it clean. I was scared of what was happening because she seemed to be going along with it, almost as if she was offering me permission to go further.

"About tonight," she said as I started to cut the dough and roll it into balls.

"Mike Prentice," I said.

Mom nodded. "That's the one. I was thinking I might blow him off."

"On a first date?" I turned to stare at her.

Mom rolled her eyes and slapped my belly leaving a smear of flour on my t-shirt. "As in not go!" she said. "I didn't know you were going to be home when I made the date."

"Hey, I'm a big boy. I can amuse myself."

"I bet you can. But if it comes to a choice between spending time with you or another loser I know which I'd prefer." She could have put it better, but I think I knew what she meant.

"What if he's the one?" I said. I was trying not to be jealous thinking of Mom with someone. Mom naked with someone. Mom with her mouth around some guy's cock, fucking him, watching as he spilled cum across her tits.

"Adam?" Mom said, and I glanced over. She was frowning. I smiled. "I thought you'd gone away again then."

"Again?" I said.

"Gone, then." The outside door opened, still dark beyond, and Jasmine Hart walked in, larger than life and twice as sassy.

"Adam!" she yelled. She ran across and enclosed me in a hug that in a normal guy would have cracked ribs. I made an effort to be good then caved and hugged her back. There was a lot to hug. Jaz had worked with Mom from the get-go, a tall black woman married to a short skinny white guy. She had curves on her curves, half of them pressed against me, all of them moving as she wriggled. She grabbed my face and planted a wet kiss right on my mouth. "Damn, if I wasn't a married woman you'd be in trouble now, kid. When did you get so big?" She looked me up and down.

I still had my hands on her waist, surprisingly narrow considering what blossomed above and below.

"It's been four years," I said.

"And you been fighting," she said, her face serious.

"Somebody has to."

She nodded and came back and kissed me again, harder this time and I was sure a little tongue was involved. What the hell, she tasted good and it felt even better. Then she let me go with a deep sigh, shaking her head.

"You're one lucky girl," she said to Mom, even though Jaz was ten years younger.

"I know it. You want to help Adam with the beignets?"

"Sure, honey. I help Adam with a-a-nything he want." Jaz slipped out of her coat and tied on an apron.

The start of another Saturday in the shop. We opened the front door at six. Early customers arrived who were regulars: cops, postmen, delivery drivers. Later, Moms came in with their kids. At noon Mom and I cleaned the tables and left. The shop would stay open until four but we were done. I hugged Jaz again before we left and patted her ass. She patted my cheek and gave me another of those kisses. Definitely tongue involved, and I wondered how much of the teasing she meant.

Instead of making for the car Mom walked in the other direction toward the market and I followed.

"Jaz is having some problems," she said as I fell into step.

"What kind of problems?"

"Marriage problems. I mention it just so you are aware." She glanced at me.

"I'm not dumb, Mom," I said.

"You're a guy, aren't you? And Jaz is one hot tamale."

I grinned. "But not as hot as you."

"Of course not. Good boy. But I am your Mom."

I shrugged. "And I'm not blind."

She flat-handed me again.

We shopped for dinner then walked back to the car, me carrying the groceries.

"I take it this means Mike is out of luck tonight?" I said as we loaded the bags in the car.

"Mike was always going to be out of luck," Mom said.

"You'd better log on and tell him."

"Did it last night."

We ate on the deck while the day faded to night. Later I rubbed Mom's feet again until she dozed. At ten I shook her awake then made hot milk while she got ready for bed. When I took it in she was already under the sheet wearing a pair of dark blue silk pajamas I'd brought back for her from the far east years ago.

"They still fit," I said, putting the milk on her nightstand.

Mom patted the bed and I sat. A boy should always do what his Mom says. What a boy shouldn't do it stare at the obvious shape of his Mom's nipples peaking through an almost sheer silk top. But hey, we're all human. Mom very obviously so.