Free Forgivin' Ain't Forgettin' by Mata Elliott

gabbed during most of the Sunday worship service and slept through the entire sermon. Well rested by the benediction, Rave was ready to indulge in her favorite sport—flirting with men of all ages, shapes, and shoe sizes. But there was one man Rave was particularly enthralled with.
    “Married,” Cassidy informed her.
    And Rave asked in the curt soprano everyone was accustomed to, “What’s marriage have to do with anything?”
    Well, it seemed that after years of wishing, dreaming, and drooling, Rave had snagged her man.
    Cassidy spit and returned her toothbrush to the holder. For the first time, she noticed the other toothbrush hanging there. Trevor’s toothbrush.
    Slowly, as if performing something forbidden, she curled her fingers around the knob of the medicine cabinet, pulled open the door, and fixed her gaze on the row Odessa had assigned their houseguest. Aligned from left to right were a can of shaving cream, a bottle of aftershave, and a brand of deodorant designed for the most rugged of men, according to the commercial. A small bottle of cologne ended the parade of items. Fascination teased Cassidy as she removed the blue container, unscrewed the tiny top, and lightly inhaled. The smell of the man she’d been body-on-body with in the bathroom this afternoon rushed up her nose and down her throat, and Cassidy sniffed a second dose.

chapter seven
    I t’s time to get up,” Brandi sang the wake-up call. She straddled her father’s lower back, clapped her hands against his skin, bounced her body, and sang the song again.
    Trevor growled, and Brandi giggled as she plopped onto her back, landing beside him. Giving a longwinded yawn, Trevor rolled over, meeting morning and his daughter. He wasn’t sure which was brighter: the broad strips of sunlight reaching in from under the window shade or the smile on his kid’s face. He grabbed the miniature clump of happiness. She was dressed in pink shorts, a pink shirt, and one pink sock, the items he’d laid out the night before. Without effort, he lifted Brandi above him, as high as his arms would extend, then dunked her onto the mattress and tickled her tummy. All giggles, she scrambled beneath the sheet to escape, and Trevor granted her a recess, reaching toward the nightstand for the wristwatch Brenda had given him for his thirtieth birthday. He read the time, and Brandi finally stopped giggling. “Grammy told me”—she pressed her finger to her chest—“to tell you”—she pointed to him—“that Derek called
three
times this morning.” The child raised three fingers.
    Entombed in sleep, Trevor had heard neither the house phones nor his cell phone. He backed his upper frame against the headboard and tossed the sheet aside, uncovering the lower portion of his body. He had on the lightweight sweatpants he’d done sit-ups and push-ups in before climbing into bed last night.
    “Are you going to call Derek back?”
    Traces of concern for Derek were vivid in his little girl’s eyes. As he well knew, Brandi had become very fond of Derek, adopting him as a big brother. Trevor leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Yes, I’m going to call him back.” He grabbed the foot without the sock and kissed the big toe. “Where’s your other sock?”
    “I can’t find it.” She laughed, pulling her foot out of his hand.
    “Well, go find it, and I’ll call Derek.”
    Brandi began to crawl away, then stopped and saddled him with a look that indicated she had a life-and-death matter on her mind. “Who was that lady in the bathroom with us yesterday?”
    “That lady,” Trevor said slowly, “was Cassidy. She lives here.” He sat up straighter. “And that was her bedroom you entered without permission. From now on, if you would like to speak with Cassidy or Mother Vale, you’re to stand outside the door and knock, then wait for them to invite you in, even if the door is already open.” Trevor’s eyebrows went up, a customary signal that he meant