Forbidden (Southern Comfort)

his own.  He waved his hand back and forth to indicate the expected display of pain, and then ruffled Max’s thick mop of hair before pushing back the covers.  The beer he’d consumed last night was demanding to come out.  He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, remembered rather suddenly that he was naked, and then made a grab for the shorts he’d dropped on the floor.
It was at that moment Tate unexpectedly appeared at the door, which was partially open due to the fact that Max had neglected to close it all the way.
Every bit of color draining from her face, she launched herself at Max, snatching him off the cherry four-poster before turning her maternal fury on Clay.  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Clay, who was now very uncomfortably aware of the fact that he was without a stitch of clothing, slowly straightened and pulled the shorts over his naked lap.  This was not exactly the way he’d hoped for Tate to see him in all his glory.
He blinked, a little surprised at her sudden ferocity.  “Well, I was just about to put some clothes on so that your son didn’t have to look at my bare bum-bum while I made a trip to the john.  Waltzing around naked somehow just didn’t seem appropriate.”  He took in her stark face and trembling limbs, knowing that there was something more than normal surprise or embarrassment at work here.
Max heard the angry timbre to his mother’s voice and misinterpreted the cause.  “I’m sorry, Mommy.” He turned tearful eyes up toward her strained face.  “I know I’m not s’ posed to bother the guests, but I heard you talking to Mr. Clay last night and wanted to show him how I’d been practicin’. I got him really good, too, Mommy.  Please don’t be mad.”
She cradled her son against her breast, stroking his hair while he wiped his runny nose on the soft fabric of her shirt.  “You’re mad at me, aren’t you Mommy?”
Clay saw that Tate was too consumed with some deep and troubling emotion to answer.  She’d simply gathered Max tightly in the circle of her arms, squeezing her eyes shut to fight back tears.  “Your mama’s not mad at you,” he assured the worried Max.  “She probably just got scared when she woke up and didn’t find you in your bed.”  A glance at Tate confirmed that was indeed part of what had happened.  “Sometimes when grownups get worried they seem angry.  But really they’re just happy that you’re okay.”
Max pondered that for a moment before pushing back to look at Tate.  She put on the brightest of fake smiles.  “Mr. Clay’s right, sweetie.  Mommy isn’t mad at you. Now why don’t you run along and go see Grandma down in the kitchen.  She’s making chocolate muffins this morning, and if you’re lucky she might let you lick some batter.”
The promised treat did the trick.  Max scooted out of Tate’s embrace and beamed a smile at Clay.  “Just wait ‘til you get up.  Grandma makes the best chocolate muffins ever.” With a quick kiss for his mother, he scampered out the door.
Tate watched him go, gazing at the door for several moments after he was gone.  Clay could see her throat working, and the tracks of moisture that began to run down her face in helpless currents.  She mustered her composure before brushing them away.  He waited her out, knowing that she was working up the courage to offer an explanation.
When she finally turned her eyes on him the pain he saw behind them forced his heart into his throat.
“When I was twelve,” she began in a harsh whisper, “I went away to my first and only sleep away camp.  We lived in Georgia then, in a little town north of Atlanta.  It was hot, the girls were mean, and I hated every minute of it.  The only good parts were swimming in the lake and mooning over Lifeguard John.”  She offered Clay a rueful smile.  “The first in a series of gorgeous blonds that I seem forever obliged to become besotted with.”
Clay snagged the implication behind that comment and tucked it away for future examination.
“Anyway.” She told him about a game, a dare.  “When I finally made it through the woods and wound up on the boys’ side of camp, I was about to abscond with the trophy when I heard… a noise. In the bathhouse.”
Shit.
Clay felt pretty sure he knew the tenor of what was coming, but he made no move to cut her off.  It was best to just let her say it out loud so that it lost some of its power.  To avoid talking about it would make it seem shameful, make Tate herself feel as if she’d done something wrong.
She drew a deep breath, trembled slightly, and hugged her arms to herself.  “I saw the camp coordinator, Mr. Logan. He was in there with one of the boys.  He was molesting him.”
Clay nodded in acknowledgement of what she had and hadn’t said.  “I understand.”
“When I saw Max in here with you I…” she made a helpless gesture.  “I guess I overreacted.”
Clay grunted his disagreement.  “You acted like any responsible parent trying to protect their child from a suspicious and potentially dangerous situation.  I don’t think you overreacted at all.  Even if you hadn’t had such a traumatic experience as a child, I believe it would still be perfectly normal for you to have questioned what you saw.”
The breath she’d been holding came out in a rush.  “I guess I’m lucky that it was you he busted in on and not some other unsuspecting guest.  I’m sorry; he’s usually not up before me.  And there is a latch on the door to the third floor that is supposed to keep him from opening it.  I’m not comfortable allowing him to mingle about unsupervised with any of the guests, for obvious reasons.  I guess Mom forgot to engage the latch