by Pat Simmons
The historically black college in West Virginia had educated freedman, freedwoman, and their descendants for almost ninety years. Her aunt had graduated with honors. Five years later, the college had closed.
According to Tabitha’s late grandmother Pearl, Aunt Tweet’s older sister, education was an honorable and much-needed profession back then. That explained why there were so many teachers on her father’s side of the family, but only one of two of the Knicely girls were drawn to be in front of a classroom.
Tabitha and her sisters were in their early teens when they had attended one of Storer College’s class reunions during one of their summers staying with Aunt Tweet. Ever since Tabitha could remember, her aunt took yearly pilgrimages to Harpers Ferry, West Virginia, to attend her college reunions.
At the time, they didn’t understand the significance the institution had played in their aunt’s life beyond her obtaining a teaching degree. When Tabitha’s parents died years apart, Aunt Tweet was there for them. Now, she couldn’t think about losing her aunt.
Plus, she wanted Aunt Tweet to meet her great-great-nieces from the Knicely sisters. That could be a couple of years away, considering none of them was married and had no prospects in sight—at least she and Kym didn’t. Rachel, on the other hand, had men tripping over their feet to get her attention. Tabitha’s bet was on Rachel to be the first one of them to glide down the aisle to the altar as if she were on a runway.
Tabitha ceased her musing and squeezed Aunt Tweet’s hand. “You’re very much alive and well.”
“Just miss me when I’m gone,” she said with finality as the pup began to bark.
I’m missing you now and you’re physically here with me. Tabitha got to her feet and reached for the dog.
“No, I’ll take him. I’m getting stiff, waiting too long for supper.” Aunt Tweet stood and made her way to the patio door.
“Here’s his harness.” Tabitha watched as her aunt descended the two steps to the brick-covered patio. Since getting Sweet Pepper as a companion, Aunt Tweet hadn’t ventured past the property line on her own, to Tabitha’s relief.
After washing her hands, Tabitha returned to the stove to stir the pasta for the spaghetti, and she was consumed by sadness. Her aunt’s declaration twisted Tabitha’s heart. She wasn’t ready for her oldest relative’s demise, especially not while Aunt Tweet stayed with her. Tabitha had to compartmentalize her emotions. She hadn’t really known what she was up against becoming a caregiver. Her mind fast-forwarded to her next task as the pasta cooked, which was reviewing notes for a PowerPoint presentation in the morning. She peeped out the window and watched Aunt Tweet tug on Sweet Pepper’s leash as he sniffed the base of one of two crepe myrtle trees. Tabitha headed for her laptop that rested on the desk in the nook tucked in the kitchen’s corner. She leaned over to boot it up.
Almost immediately, she saw an error on one of her notes, fixed it, then realized her aunt hadn’t come back inside. Hoping Aunt Tweet had relaxed on the lounger, Tabitha saved her work and glanced outside the door. When she didn’t see Aunt Tweet, a sinking feeling overpowered her. “Please, no, not again.” Slipping on her sandals, she hurried outside. Clearly, her aunt was on a walk.
Tabitha whipped her head in both directions a couple of times. Nothing. Her heart pounded with fear as tears trickled down her cheeks. She was about to sprint in the direction of Natural Bridge—a busy thoroughfare—then realized she should check the direction of Marcus’s house first. Spinning around, she took off as if she were racing for the gold in the U.S. Olympics. Tabitha made it to his house in record time. Panting, she bent over and rested her hands on her knees. If Aunt Tweet wasn’t on Marcus’s porch, where could she be?
While speeding back to her house, something told her to look over her shoulder. That’s when she spied her aunt and her hyperactive companion circling Roland pond. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she shouted, “Aunt Tweet, get back.” She repeated her cry, waving. Her aunt didn’t look her way. She was about to take off when a car rolled up beside her and honked.
“Lose somebody again?” Marcus asked. His eyes sparkled with mirth. If he was joking, she wasn’t laughing. If he was being condescending, she didn’t have time to be chastened.
“Not now.” She pointed toward the pond and jumped in his front seat. “Can you give me a ride? Aunt Tweet moves faster than a crawling baby chasing after a toy.”
Marcus raced in that direction. He parked, and they jumped out at the same time, yelling. Aunt Tweet glanced up and waved as Marcus got to the uneven slope first.
Tears of joy and fright formed in Tabitha’s eyes as she reached her aunt and engulfed her in a hug. That was close. She could have fallen and tumbled into the pond. “You scared me.” She couldn’t check her tears.
“I didn’t mean to, baby.”
“Come on. I’ll take you both home,” Marcus offered.
Tabitha didn’t refuse. In a daze, she guided Aunt Tweet and the dog into the back seat, then collapsed beside them, and held her aunt’s hand. Not even a minute later, they pulled up in front of her house and heard her smoke alarm blaring inside. “Oh no!” She remembered her spaghetti.
Releasing Aunt Tweet’s hand, Tabitha’s adrenaline kicked in again as she bolted from the car to her childhood home.
As soon as she opened the door, smoke filled her lungs and stung her eyes.
She hurried to the stove and immediately turned off the dials. The pasta was black and brittle. How could the water have evaporated that fast? This wouldn’t have happened if Aunt… No, Tabitha stopped herself from playing the blame game. She was mentally exhausted from constantly being on guard for her aunt’s whereabouts and actions.
Her eyes were burning as she choked on the smoke. She grabbed a towel and the pot handle—even the heat-resistant handle was hot. Gagging, she covered her mouth and nose with one hand while reaching for another towel to cover her nose.
Marcus appeared, fanning the air, and snatched the pot from her hand. He carried it to the sink, dumped it, and then turned on the faucet.
“I’ve got it”—she coughed again—“under control. Where is—?”
He practically lifted her off the floor and ushered her toward the door. “Get some fresh air with your aunt outside. I’ve got this,” he said in a stern voice, which contradicted his gentle expression.
She felt so helpless. No matter how much she loved her aunt, she couldn’t do it. It was still May. She had months to go before Rachel took the reins.
As the sirens grew louder, Tabitha guessed one of her neighbors had called the fire department to protect the investment of all the homes in the historic community, or maybe Marcus had made good on his threat to summon the police, the soft kiss on her hand meaning nothing more than antiquated etiquette. No, he had been with her, so he couldn’t have called any authorities.
Her good workday was going downhill fast; she was a loser when it came to being a caregiver. If Marcus had her arrested for endangerment, who would take care of Aunt Tweet? Jail might be the safest place for her once her sisters bit her head off.
When an emergency vehicle arrived in front of her house, Tabitha breathed a sigh of relief. She forced herself out of a lawn chair and met one of the firefighters who was halfway to her on the back patio.
“I left something burning on the stove that triggered my smoke alarm,” she babbled, waving her hands in the air. “I was down the street at the time.” She bowed her head, embarrassed that she didn’t follow safety protocol she had learned in school to turn off all appliances before leaving the house.
“I opened all the windows in the kitchen to air out the house.” Marcus’s deep voice preceded his appearance. He looked just as powerful as the firefighters, with his bulging muscles stretching his polo shirt with his company’s logo. As frantic as she was and as scrambled as her mind was, why did she see him with clarity? At the moment, she was gra
teful for his take-charge attitude. His presence was comforting.
“If you don’t mind, ma’am, we’d rather inspect the kitchen for ourselves to assess for any possible hot spots,” the firefighter said and waved for one of his crew to follow.
“Sure.” Her shoulders slumped as Marcus’s strong hands gently squeezed them and guided her to the patio love seat, then followed the firefighter inside.
After flopping down, she covered her face with her hands and bawled. She wasn’t a crier by nature, but lately, that seemed to be the only way to release her frustration. Next, she chided herself for being so careless not to turn off the stove. As an organized and dutiful person, she was losing her edge. “Lord, help me,” she whispered to herself.
Tabitha wiped at her tears and took a deep cleansing breath and released the tension. She sat, staring at nothing, as the firefighter came outside and confirmed that the damage was limited to the smoke and suggested she purchase a new pot. His sense of humor wasn’t appreciated as she went through the motions of nodding her thanks. She needed to get up and see the damage for herself, but she couldn’t command her body to move, so she closed her eyes to gain strength. She sniffed and inhaled cologne mixed with smoke before the seat shifted beside her. Marcus.
“You okay?” His voice was low and soothing.
Tabitha wanted to scream no, but her lips wouldn’t move. She needed to get a grip.
“I’m hungry,” Aunt Tweet said. “Give me a match, and I’ll cook us some supper.”
Tabitha’s energy returned in a flash. In unison, she and Marcus responded with a resounding, “No!” Their one accord stirred something in her heart—and kept climbing up her throat and forced her mouth open. A chuckle slipped out, and Marcus winked. The gesture made her tremble as if his lips had touched her hand again. The charged moment settled as he stood and stepped away.
* * *
What have I gotten myself into? Marcus wondered as he noticed Tabitha shudder. Damsels in distress pulled at his heartstrings, especially this one. He wanted to wrap her in the cocoon of his arms until she gained her strength.
Unintentionally, the two lovely ladies had reeled him in. One thing was for sure: he couldn’t leave them now. Tabitha was on the verge of caving in to an emotional breakdown while Aunt Tweet, despite her declaration of hunger, hadn’t moved, and the puppy rested on her chest as she reclined on the patio lounger.
Marcus didn’t know there was a looming crisis underway when he turned the corner and spotted her. His heart had skipped a beat when he saw her in a casual romper that showcased her flawless bare legs and cute toes. He was on the verge of flirting, something he hadn’t done in a long time.
In her business suit, Tabitha came across as intimidating. Marcus definitely liked her personality when she was off the clock. As long as Aunt Tweet’s whereabouts weren’t the subject of their contention, they could engage in normal banter. However, the panic on her face dashed that hope and put him on alert. Suddenly, he felt like a fool for being so harsh with her. She was struggling to be a caregiver, but who was taking care of her? He glanced back at his new charges, then tugged his cell off the clip on his belt. Tabitha might not know it, but she needed to be rescued, and firefighters had nothing on Marcus Whittington. He punched in a familiar number.
“Yeah, Boss?” Chess answered.
“I’ve got a situation. I need you to place an order for some entrées, hot and cold—salads, fruits, and whatever Stan can throw in at the last minute. I need the delivery at my house ASAP.” Whenever his company sponsored functions, small or large, Stan Wilson, owner of Sandwiches and Stuff, always came through.
His employee chuckled. “Who are you feeding this time?”
Tabitha and her aunt weren’t his charity case. This was personal. His employee didn’t need to know that Marcus was putting his heart on the line. “I want the delivery faster than Jimmy John’s.”
“It will be there in twenty minutes, even if I have to deliver it myself. Oh, and I need to talk to you about something—”
“Not now.” Marcus held up his hand. “One fire at a time.” Bad choice of words. “We’ll talk tomorrow when I’m in the office.” Whatever was going on at the company, Demetrius could handle it. Ending the call, he walked back to the patio and joined Tabitha on the love seat.
“Hey,” he said softly, coaxing her to face him. Her bright eyes were dimmed by the turn of events. She looked like she was in a trance. “I ordered some food, so you can relax.”
“How am I supposed to relax?” Tabitha’s bottom lip trembled. “I can’t. I have research to do for work. I have Aunt Tweet.”
“And you have me. I’m here.” Marcus didn’t know what kind of commitment he was making, but he planned to fulfill it. He wrapped his hands around her soft ones. Surprisingly, she didn’t pull away. After a few seconds, her shoulders relaxed, and he exhaled. “I’ll entertain her.”
“But don’t you have something to do?” Tabitha asked politely, but her expression was hopeful that he didn’t.
He smiled and winked. “Nothing but to enjoy the company of two beautiful ladies.”
Chapter 13
Tabitha edged herself onto the lounger next to Aunt Tweet. Accidents happen, and she took responsibility. Linking her fingers through her aunt’s, Tabitha wanted to convey a gesture of enduring love no matter what.
When Marcus returned, Tabitha whispered her thanks. With unusual clarity, she scrutinized his features. Handsome, strong…dare she say, sexy? Did she hear right? He’d ordered dinner? Add kindness to his résumé. The fight in her that she didn’t need his help retreated, replaced by admiration for his thoughtfulness, so she thanked him instead.
“You’re welcome.” Then he did it again—he kissed her hand.
The man might as well have kissed her lips the way he made her feel lightheaded with one small touch.
When he smiled, she focused on the curve of his lips. If Tabitha were a young teenager, he would have been her crush. She cleared her head of those notions.
A chirp alerted Marcus to his phone. Pulling it out of his pants pocket, he read the text and grinned. Was that a dimple she saw? She would verify that before he left for the evening. Her sister Rachel had dimples, and it added to her beauty. On a man, his was sexy.
“Our food is here. Be back in a sec.”
Tabitha watched his confident stride until he climbed into his car, then she exhaled. She rubbed her fingers through her hair and sniffed. It smelled like smoke. Although she hadn’t planned to wash her hair tonight, she had to add a shampoo to her tasks. She dreaded the hair regimen that would take a couple of hours: the conditioning, blow-drying, and straightening. If she dared to want curls, shame on her, because that would add on another hour of hair care.
What she really wanted to do more than eat was climb under the covers and sleep her cares away. That wasn’t going to happen. If she got five hours of rest tonight, it would be a premium, but under no circumstances was she leaving her aunt’s side. “God, I need help,” she pleaded, then realized it was the second time within hours she’d sent out an SOS to the Lord.
Her spirits lifted when Marcus returned with bags and a platter. Her heart fluttered, watching his determined steps and the tender look he cast her way.
“I hope you’re hungry.” He smiled, releasing all the handsomeness and charm she’d never taken the time to admire before.
As she studied him, she chided herself for misjudging his character instead of getting to know him. Making sure Aunt Tweet was safe and fed was evidence of his passion for the elderly.
He arranged the food on her wrought-iron table, then waited for them to join him. Once they took their seats, Marcus surprised her again as he served them before himself. There were mini packets of hand wipes. He’d thought of everything.
“Young man,” Aunt Tweet said, patting the table, “please say grace over our
food.”
Without hesitation, he bowed his head. “Lord, thank You for this meal and for keeping my neighbors safe. In Jesus’s name, amen.”
“Amen,” Tabitha said, joining their chorus. She sampled the first bite of chicken and savored the seasoning. “This is good. Where is it from?”
“Stan’s Sandwiches and Stuff. We use them a lot for catering different events.” After a few bites, he grunted.
She could see amusement on his face. “What?” Tabitha prompted, wanting in on the secret.
“This is the second time we’re sharing a meal, courtesy of the lovely Aunt Tweet.” Although her aunt blushed, Tabitha wouldn’t consider either scenario an ideal dinner date. “Come on. Where’s your sense of humor?” He took another bite and chewed, watching and waiting for her.
“I think it ran away from me,” she admitted, smiling in spite of herself.
Marcus changed the subject. “What type of drugs does Ceyle-Norman manufacture?”
He had remembered her company? That was a brownie point. It wasn’t a big name, so most people hadn’t heard of it when Pfizer and Mallinckrodt dominated the global market. Tabitha slipped into work mode. “Spironolactone for hyperaldosteronism, Porital for osteoporosis, Ceclor for sinusitis, Dyabolin, a supplemental injection for type 2 diabetes, and Lismetol for hypertension.” She paused after listing two others. “Honestly, I never had a preference on which drugs I pitched to doctors, but with Aunt Tweet’s dementia, I’m more driven to know every nuance about the ingredients, research, trials, and studies of drugs.”
He nodded and leaned back, stretching his legs under their small table. “When I see the commercials for a new medicine to treat an ailment, I do a double take. Some of these drugs have terrible side effects—internal bleeding, suicidal thoughts, infection, death. Ugh.” Marcus frowned. “I can’t imagine needing medicine so badly it would be worth the risk.”
