“Yep,” he responded, waiting impatiently for his lunch. His stomach was rumbling, and he still had to make the climb up the mountain with a load of lumber he had picked up at the local mill. It may not have been necessary, but he knew Zeke. Once his brother had a budget in mind, he never went over by a penny. A little extra lumber would come in handy just in case there was a bad cut. The Sheriff was a bad cut of a figure for a human, and Isiah prepared himself for an asshole comment he knew was going to tumble out of the sheriff’s mouth.
“Let’s see, you are the one the with ATF,” Sheriff Huckston said. “How long you plan on staying in town?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing, especially, considering you know what’s coming, but you don’t know when,” Isiah said. “Putting in your papers may not have been enough. If I were you, I would expedite moving and get out of town.”
“You threatening me, boy?”
“Take it as you will, Sheriff,” Isiah said, handing Ms. Ethel a few bills and a generous tip.
“Hope Zeke likes the pot roast,” Ethel called out to Isiah, who was halfway out the door.
“He always does, especially if he has his strawberry soda,” Isiah said, giving her a wave. His eyes rested momentarily on the Sheriff as if in a final warning. The beady eyes of the Sheriff watched him amble down the sidewalk to the white truck. Too many damned Nearys were on his mountain of late, and either they needed to leave or he would. Threatening me. Who does he think he is?
Ms. Ethel must have read his mind because unexpectedly, she answered his thought about the youngest Neary.
“Sheriff, I tell you the truth. Those Neary boys have grown into fine men. I heard through the grapevine that one just got promoted to Assistant Director for like four or five states,” Ethel said, watching Sheriff Huckston. “I’d bet my neck that he is going to be working really closely with the ATF in Georgia as well.”
Three warnings. Ethel made the third. Maybe the Neary boy was doing him a solid and providing him with a piece of advice. Expedite the paperwork he said. Get out of town he said. The Sheriff wasn’t a fool.
“Give me some of that to go, Ethel,” he said, planning to expedite cleaning out his house and then getting the little lady down to Florida to start house shopping. He’d had enough of the mountain town, mountain men, and Macklemores. More than anything, he’d had enough of them damned Nearys.
THE OLD TRUCK RUMBLED up the mountain, with Isiah taking it extra slow with the lumber. His stomach urged him to drive faster, but he needed to be safe first. Relief flooded him as he spotted the old blue mailbox, glad he had picked up a newer one, large enough to hold packages to replace the one which had been there since he was a child. He’d take care of that after lunch. He blew his horn three times, letting his brother know he was coming through the gate as the tires gripped the hardened red clay road.
He rounded the hill and the cabin came into view. Nostalgia filled him with fond memories of his youth and times with his family. He’d grown up here in a way and looked forward to bringing his son here to hang out with his uncle and cousins. Zeke stood on the front porch minus a shirt, providing a friendly wave. Isiah parked the truck, getting out with his bounty of food.
“Hey Lil’ brother. It appears that Alabama mud flap is about to reach your chest,” Zeke said.
“I am not spending four days listening to you insult my beautiful beard,” Isiah said.
“Me? Insult your beard? Never, I just thought since you were taking a desk job, you would go ahead and shave that chin toupee,” Zeke said, happy to see his youngest brother.
“Well, the three days I am here, I plan to work to help you out,” he said. “I see no need to spar childlike jibes.”
“Wait,” Zeke said, “initially you said four days. Now you have said three.”
“Keep insulting me,” Isiah said. “I can easily drop my load and get back to my life.”
“Oh, when did you get so sensitive about that snot mop?”
“I dunno, Zeke, maybe I was looking forward to spending some time with my big brother. You know stupid stuff like getting to know his wife, meeting his little girl, sharing some stories, a beer, a shot of bourbon, that kind of thing,” Isiah said. “I even brought cheese for your neighbor like you asked, so by my calculations, it would be nice to be treated with a modicum of fucking respect.”
Zeke pulled the old tee shirt over his head, watching his brother. He knew Isiah well enough to know that tone. Instead of coming at him again, he took a change of tone as well.
“Whatever it is, by the time you leave, I will help you sort it out,” Zeke offered, stepping off the porch to stand toe to toe with Isiah.
“Ain’t much to figure out,” he said. “Took a promotion in Louisville which starts in three weeks, bought a farm so Mom and Dad could come back to the old house. I got shot in the chest last week... gonna be a daddy and I’m getting married.”
“Is that all?” Zeke asked, trying to hide his surprise.
“Nope,” he said looking at his brother. “Gabe got drunk off two shots of the good stuff. I brought it with me to celebrate your marriage and new baby.”
“I’m not drinking that shit,” Zeke said.
“Brought you a strawberry soda and some of Ms. Ethel’s pot roast,” Isiah said.
“That I will drink, but I’m not touching anything from your bourbon stash,” Zeke said.
“Fair enough,” Isiah said. “Let’s eat, talk, look at your plans, and get to work.”
“You seem to be in a hurry,” he said.
“Got my own family to worry about now, Zeke,” he told him. “A man needs to be home with his woman to keep the other cocks from strutting into the hen house.”
Little did he know, an old rooster from DeShondra’s past was making his way into offices of Leman Realty to scratch out a trail to win back his former love.
ISIAH HAD BEEN GONE for six hours, thirty-seven minutes, and twenty-eight seconds, which left DeShondra wanting to pack a bag and start to drive to Georgia. The behavior was so foreign that she took her own temperature to make sure she wasn’t sick.
“Ms. Leman,” Monica’s voice came across the line. “John Lucas has just pulled up in front of the building. He’s parked beside your car. Are you available to see him?”
“Not really, but he is not going to go away unless I do,” she mumbled.
“Should I sit in with a notepad while he is in your office. You know pretend to take notes or something?” Monica asked.
“No need,” she responded, wondering why the Devil decided to pay her a visit in person.
John Lucas walked into the offices, taking in all the details of the new location, but faced with the same old receptionist. He gave a brief, insincere smile to Monica, who returned the sentiment.
“She’s in her office, Mr. Lucas, and expecting you,” Monica said. “Can I get you some water?”
“I’m certain it would be loaded with arsenic or anthrax if you did,” he replied in a deep baritone. He walked past Monica, leaving a trail of sexy scented cologne, which would linger in the air for hours after his departure. Like his unwanted cologne, it arrived with the man ’s unwanted presence. She never liked the dude. Still didn’t and she wanted to know why he was back, walking through the door as if he didn’t crush DeShondra’s emotional vault of potential happiness.
John Lucas nearly destroyed her cousin. He walked out of her life, leaving DeShondra broken hearted and distrusting of men, but she had a new guy who seemed to love her for who she was, not for whom he wanted her to be. John, in her estimation, never loved anyone but himself. Monica prayed that the man’s visit would be short and whatever damage he planned to inflict was minimal.
“John, what brings you by? Are you in the market for a new home?” DeShondra asked, leaning forward on her desk, the left hand conveniently cradled into the right, shielding the ring. She surprised herself with the casual tone of her voice when inside she felt as if 16 cats were sliding claws only down a g
igantic chalkboard. She was also not surprised that the man looked the same.
John was six feet tall, born arrogant, naturally unenhanced attractive, and with a perfect set of pearly white teeth that each time he flashed them, panties dropped in front of him wherever he stood. Her ex-boyfriend, in her opinion, was just that, a boy who could never distinguish the difference between love and sex. It took a year and a half of her life to learn the difference. Another to get over him and one more to move on.
“No, I came back to see you,” John said. “I wanted to check in on you and see how you were doing.”
“Thanks,” she replied, “that is sweet of you, but DeShondra is just fine. Is there anything else I can help you with today, John?’
“Yes, take me back,” he said to her, waiting for a reaction on her face which did not come. He continued the speech he’d practiced for nearly a month, leading in with, “I was stupid, selfish, self-centered and I realized too late that you were the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“All of those things are true, but I have moved on,” she said. “Thanks for stopping by. Please, say hey to your Momma.”
“DeShondra! After everything we had, you aren’t willing to try again?” John asked certain his plan to win her back would work. “It may take a little work, but I know, with counseling, and time, we can be great together again.”
She stood up, her palms flat on the desk. Slowly, she removed the coordinating jacket to her suit revealing the pink loose-fitting silk top. Just as she suspected, his eyes raked her body, stopping on the no longer flat, taut stomach. The slight curvature was a solid sign that she had moved on to someone else. Another cock had been in his hen’s house.
“Are you pregnant?’ John asked in disbelief.
“Engaged and about to be married as well,” she said holding up her ring finger. “John, the problem is, we were never great together. Again, thanks for coming by. It was good to see you.”
DeShondra’s hand was on his arm as she led him out the door of her office, closing it behind him. That damned cologne stayed in the room, and she grabbed a can of room refresher, spraying until the scent of Eau de John was no longer prevalent. Good riddance.
He left without much muss and very little fuss, which was wholly unlike John Lucas. He’d hurt her once, nearly destroying her self-esteem, but she didn’t let him near her business. Good loving was one thing, good business was another. She’d worked too hard to build her company. Men would come and go, but DeShondra Leman would still be standing.
Monica ran into the office, also noticing for the first time DeShondra’s stomach.
“Ooh! Does your Mama know?” Monica asked first, followed by, “What did he want? Girl, that man is still fine as cat hair. I know he was gonna try to win you back. I know he freaked when he saw that ring and your tiny baby pooch. Ooh! Does your Daddy know you are pregnant by a colonizing mountain man?”
“Go!” DeShondra said. “Please, go find something to do and me something to eat. I am going to be as big as a house by the time I deliver this child.”
“On it,” Monica said, leaving the office, but turning back. “DeShondra, honestly. Did it feel good to rub your new future in his face?”
“It did,” she said with a smile. “It felt even better showing him that I had moved on.”
DeShondra sat back in the chair, staring at the pile of folders on her desk of new listings. A separate pile sat on the other corner of sales. Twelve years ago, she had opened the business with a chip on her shoulder and something to prove. She’d made more money than she could spend and having sacrificed a chance at happiness on many occasions, this time would be different. She needed to move on to what was next in her life without the long hours and sacrificing sleep.
“I’m not sacrificing anything this time,” she said, watching the door and waiting for food. Monica was taking too long, so she called her asking her to put the food on her desk, and she would have it for dinner. Grabbing her purse and keys, she opted instead to swing by the farmhouse and take the guys some lunch.
Chapter 8 – Framing It All
Isiah was nowhere in sight when Zeke came from the shower to heat a bottle for his daughter Michelle. She would be awake soon and ready to eat. Lately, the infant had become far more vociferous in her demands for food and attention. A blessing had come to them in the early weeks of her life whereas the beautiful child nearly slept all night. Even now, when she woke, she would lie in the crib, cooing to the mobile overhead, waiting for her diaper change. It was just when she wanted to eat. A light diet of cereal with pureed fruit kept the loud wails to a minimum, and she sat on his lap, the little mouth opened like a baby bird, squeaking for more food to go in the hole.
“Morning,” Tameka said as she poured herself a cup of coffee. “Where’s Isiah? He didn’t say much last night over dinner. I hope he didn’t hate my cooking.”
“Bleu is simple,” Zeke said. “If he didn’t like your cooking, he wouldn’t have eaten it. If he truly hated it, he would have cooked himself something else.”
“You three are so different,” she said. “Does he like a cup of coffee in the morning?”
“That, we all have in common. He may be outside,” Zeke told her, wiping the cereal from Michelle’s chin. “I know he brought grass seed with him. That man and his grass.”
“I bet he has a nice yard at home,” she said, peering out the window. The first rays of the morning sun were peeking through the Georgia pines, welcoming the start of a new day. She spotted her brother-in-law in the dense fog carrying a seed bag from which he tossed the small granules in the patchy yard. “The birds are probably going to carry those seeds off before noon.”
“Bleu has accounted for all of that or he would not have done it,” Zeke said. “Why don’t you pour him a cup of coffee and take it out to him?”
“Me? He’s your brother,” she said, holding the crooked coffee mug in her hand.
“Sure. You can take over with Michelle. You have doodie duty, plus her bath, morning story time...getting her dressed...,” he said.
“Coffee, I’m on it,” Tameka replied, pouring her brother-in-law a cup of joe. Exiting the front door, holding it so it didn’t slam and scare her daughter, she waited on the front porch as the bag Isiah carried came to an end. He moved with slow intention as he approached the porch, accepting the cup from her. There was information she held about his lady love which had to be extricated from her head without him seeming as if he were prying. This is what he spent years learning to do and had mastered his techniques. All he needed were the right three questions and she would fill in the gaps.
“How you holding up, living on this mountain?” he asked. “I’m sure at this point you miss your friends.”
“I made a new friend here,” she said, watching him closely.
“Your friend Cabrina married my other brother. I understand they came for a visit. They stopped by my place and seem to be getting on well. Does the other friend plan to come and visit any time soon?” he asked.
“DeShondra? Here?” she said, laughing. “Not damned likely. Maybe after we get the additions done with more amenities, but as the cabin currently stands, it will be a cold day in Fiji before she steps foot on this porch.”
He asked the last question, which he knew was going to make her talk. Sipping the coffee, which wasn’t half bad, neither was her cooking, he took his time, easing into the subject.
“The way Cabrina acted in Vegas, I thought you three were peas in a colorful pod,” he said, looking out over the mountainous region.
“Not really. I guess what it all comes down to is mothers,” she started, taking a seat on the porch, inviting him to join her. “See, I lost my mother when I was 13. I lived with my aunt, who took me in to get the check, but at 16, I kind of moved in with Cabrina’s family.”
“Yeah, my brother mentioned the house she grew up in when I spoke with him last week,” Isiah interjected.
“House? More like a museum of rare
collectibles. It reminded me of Grandma’s house without the plastic furniture covers,” she told him. “When Cabrina and I lived together, her house was much like that as well. Tons of collectible pieces, furniture each with stories, or numbers on the bottom of each piece, that had been handcrafted by a blind man with one arm who taught left-handed children kind of stuff, you know. Or art which was number 12 in a set of only 25. Shit like that which made conversations boring as watching dog crap turn white. She was a replica of her mother.”
“Losing yours so young, you really didn’t have a model like Cabrina or your other friend,” he said softly.
“DeShondra and her mom are an interesting story,” she said pensively.
“Her mom isn’t a nice lady?” he asked as if he’d never met the woman.
“Oh no, quite the opposite,” she informed him. “Maya Leman is everyone’s ideal Mom, well everyone but DeShondra. Their home, where DeShondra grew up, is so warm, vibrant, full of color, textures, and thoughtful design elements to maximize space over function. Mrs. Leman took time selecting colors, cool mismatched dishes, collections of items she loved to use that she scored on eBay. It drives DeShondra nuts.”
“Her mother sounds like a character,” he said.
“She is a woman of character. Although they had money, Mrs. Leman raised them as if they had nothing,” she said. “Dr. Leman’s practice has always done extremely well, but if you were around Mrs. Leman, you would think they had debt up to their eyeballs. That woman was an extreme couponer before it became popular.”
She chuckled at a fond memory from college. “I will never forget the first time her mother came up to visit us in college. She brought enough toiletries, noodles, and food to last the three of us a whole year,” Tameka told him. “As a bonus, she treated us to dinner and used a coupon. DeShondra was so embarrassed.”
“Because of a coupon?”
“To DeShondra is was tacky,” she told. “Mrs. Leman is a homemaker who never worked outside the home. The sheer idea that her mother had to ask her father for money or wait for a monthly allowance rubbed DeShondra raw. Add to that, Mrs. Leman made all their clothes. It was in college when we got our refunds from our loans that DeShondra went shopping at a mall.”
Bleu, Grass, Bourbon Page 7
