Devil In The Waters, Book 3, Chapter 7a (partial) (Patreon)

Kimmy couldn’t have looked more out of place, and it was the other moms looking bothered that clued him in. The others had greeted Kimmy, some already knew her, and you could see the coldness in their faces. This wasn’t the Kimmy they knew. Not the one they were use to. This one was intimidating. And if their boyfriends or husbands were present, their chagrin would be amplified. Kimmy was tall, taller in her heels, and Josh didn’t know how much the shoes cost (only knew they were expensive enough Kimmy didn’t want to give him the number), but figured the moms would; her legs were long, she was skinny, and now her hair was combed back, shining like it was wet, tied in a bun, exposing her perfect and beautiful face under the long fringe of bangs. She hardly wore makeup; just a little accent on her eyes, a little gloss on her lips; you could see the freckles on her cheeks to prove she didn’t have a base of foundation. Gabrielle and Leah had worn suits today, but they didn’t have Kimmy’s thin figure, nor were their clothes as fine as Kimmy’s expensive things. Plus they’d doffed their jackets, rolled up sleeves, and untucked shirts.

Kimmy lounged with her back against the table, facing outward like him, legs tightly crossed like she was cold. She said, “Did you eat?”

“No. Figured we’d eat together, and you probably wouldn’t want a hot dog and fries.”

“I’m not opposed.”

“We can grab Chinese when we’re going home.”

“I’m starving,” she sighed, tightening her crossed arms.

He moved his mouth like he would ask if she and Devlin didn’t stop on the way back from Hamilton for a bite to eat, but didn’t want to bring him up. “We can get going soon.”

“We don’t have to hurry.”

“Want me to grab you some fries or something?”

“I’m good.” Her high heel shoe bobbed, Kimmy swinging her leg. A shapely leg he examined, lusting after his own wife, her oblivious to the way her husband currently studied her. He already knew his luck being with her, and now he enjoyed a moment studying the provocative shape of her knee, calf, and ankle like she was a beautiful woman he didn’t know sitting next to him on the subway. Thin legs, raised tendon at her knee, the hem of her skirt was kept low, almost touching her knee; there was a glimpse of inside thigh, just a sliver, on the leg crossing over top the other. He smiled, raised his eyes to appreciate her perfect profile a moment, the shallow ridges, the subdued almost flat prominence of her nose, the pout of her sexy lips, the sharpness of jaw, thinness of neck . . . His eyes returned to the exposed leg, a swelling beginning between his own legs, a desire to get her home building . . . 

In the the glare of the high mounted fluorescents, he detected a gauzy haze on her skin that otherwise gleamed. He reared back, trying to change the light’s reflection. Yeah, there was a barely noticeable dullness there, inside of her left knee, and it made him think of Gabrielle cleaning Simon’s mouth of ice cream and missing a spot, or smearing rather than clearing. He cocked his head, saw the hazy shape’s irregular edges, the vague outline reminding him of a jigsaw puzzle piece.

When he cupped a hand on her bare knee, Kimmy jumped. He laughed, thumb-caressed her kneecap to soothe her. She pressed her crossed legs together tighter and tugged the hem of her skirt lower, trying to get it over her knee. He still chuckled, wiping his thumb to clear the mark. There was no strange feel under his thumb pad, and he cocked his head to see if there was a change to the duller sheen. Kimmy caught him looking, squirming now to see what he spied. “Don’t, Josh,” she said, annoyed.

“I’m not doing anything,” he laughed.

“Not in public,” she said without humor, licking three of her fingers, shoving his hand away and wiping where his thumb had been.

“I’m not doing anything,” he said again with less laughter this time. Kimmy crossed her legs over the other way now and tugged her skirt hem low. Like she was self-conscious of dressing so well when everyone else here at the Monkey House dressed so casual.

From the central alley’s end, Meyer and Sophie had come to their group, Meyer lifting Sophie up by both hands to stand on the picnic table bench. Sophie trotted straight to her favorite aunt, coming to Kimmy’s back and putting her little hands on Kimmy’s bun, looking to undo it. While he watched and said nothing to Kimmy as Sophie approached, it was because he expected Sophie’s presence to remove Kimmy’s scowl—but instead, Kimmy almost shouted, her face pinching mean as she darted forward, hands coming up protectively to the sides of her head. “Don’t do that,” she hissed, clucking her tongue, standing up, scoffing, straightening her skirt.

Kimmy turned, saw it was Sophie; her posture sagged. Sophie stood on the bench still, both hands gathered under her chin, eyes widened from being scolded unexpectedly, sucking on her lower lip. Kimmy hung her head, palmed her brow for a second, then showed a face full of apology. She took Sophie in her arms, sitting back down next to Josh again, one hand caressing the back of Sophie’s head. “I’m so sorry, Sophie, I didn’t know it was you.”

“Sorry,” Sophie said, and Kimmy shushed her, not wanting her to apologize, hugging still. Josh met Myer’s eyes where he stood at the end of the table, hands in his pockets. They both shrugged.

“Go—do it,” Kimmy said to Sophie now, spinning, showing Sophie her back. “Make me look normal again.”

The hurt feelings were forgotten, and Sophie giggled, began working fingers through Kimmy’s hair.

Kimmy showed him a grimace that turned sheepish, and he laughed, palmed her knee where it touched his thigh. Kimmy put her hand over his.

Sophie worked the bun loose and Kimmy shook her hair out, running nails through her bangs to mess them up. Sophie hugged arms around Kimi’s neck and pressed her chin into her neck.

“Now I feel like myself again,” Kimmy told her, caressing Sophie’s forearm.

“Come jump with me,” Sophie said. The spot across from them where the boys had fought was empty still. Inviting.

“I don’t think I can, Soph. I don’t have the right shoes.” And, no, she didn’t, her heels would go right through.

Sophie said, “Take off your shoes.”

Kimmy said, “I don’t think so, Soph, they don’t want bare feet on there, do they?”

Josh said, “They wouldn’t want my bare feet on there, nobody’s going to care about your pretty feet . . .”

Kimmy shot him a disdainful look. “But . . .”

“Plea-ease,” Sophie pleaded.

Meyer said, “Go on in your bare feet, Kimmy—who’s going to stop you? You look like you own the place.” He helped Sophie down, and she took Kimmy’s wrist; not tugging, but gently guiding, showing Kimmy an expression of pleading.

“Kimmy, just get out there,” Josh laughed, leaning away and giving her room to get up.

She did. Reluctantly.

Sophie led her across to the trampoline, bounding ahead and showing her how you were supposed to do it. Meyer took Kimmy’s spot on the bench next to Josh. Together they watched Kimmy stiffly finding her bounce, hands on her skirt like she was afraid it might fly up. Kimmy looked nervous at first, but soon was persuaded by Sophie to get into it. And while eventually Kimmy flung her jacket aside and bounced in her sleeveless top (showing off her toned arms), she still seemed stiff. It was strange, because fun Kimmy from two weeks ago would probably have tried a backflip for Sophie, skirt or not.