by T. K. Leigh
“Unfortunately, that gene never got passed on to Lydia,” Julia says.
“Who’s Lydia?”
“Our mother,” Wes explains quickly.
I wonder why Julia calls her by her first name, but I don’t have a chance to ask before he continues.
“Meemaw and Gampy were her parents.”
“What did they do for work?” I inquire, then clarify, “Your grandparents.”
“Meemaw volunteered at area hospitals as a cuddler,” Julia answers.
I wrinkle my brow. “A cuddler?”
“It’s exactly how it sounds.” Her eyes shine with nostalgia, a heartwarming smile pulling on her full, wine-stained lips. “Some parents can’t be at the hospital with their newborns, especially when they’re born with medical issues. As much as you want to be there twenty-four/seven, it’s not always possible, so cuddlers soothe and snuggle those babies. Sometimes feed them. That’s what Meemaw did.”
“Wow.” I’d never met the woman but can tell I would have liked her. “And your grandfather?”
“He was a lawyer,” Wes states.
“District attorney,” Julia clarifies. “Then a judge.”
“When he retired, he did some advocacy work for the Innocence Foundation, helping people believed to be wrongfully convicted. He even took on some pro bono defense work.”
“That’s actually what caused the rift between our grandparents and Lydia,” Julia adds.
“What? His advocacy work?” I shake my head, confused how anyone would find fault in that. Then again, based on the few things I’ve picked up, their mother isn’t the most sympathetic person.
“That was probably about twenty years ago now,” Wes jumps in. “You have to understand. Where we grew up in the Atlanta suburbs is a very affluent community.”
“Very…white,” Julia emphasizes. “I mean, it wasn’t completely white, but let’s just say, in our school, if you weren’t white and wealthy, you weren’t exactly welcome.”
“What happened?” I press.
“It’s been quite a while, so my memory’s a little foggy, but a girl a few years older than me ended up pregnant. At fourteen.” She gives me a pointed stare. “To make matters worse, her father was the headmaster of our uppity prep school, so you can imagine what a scandal this would be for her family, who were supposed to be nice, Christian people.” She rolls her eyes, her disdain obvious.
I swallow hard, knowing all too well what this poor girl must have gone through. After all, I faced this myself. Maybe not at fourteen, but I can sympathize.
“She was a junior debutante, so there was no way for her to participate in all the Southern society bullshit events in her ‘condition’.” She uses air quotes, her tone oozing with sarcasm.
“Next thing we hear, they arrested a seventeen-year-old from school,” Wes explains. “Elijah. Claimed he raped her. According to Gampy, the whole thing was suspicious. He was on the Ethics Board at the school.”
“Who?” I ask. “Gampy?”
He nods. “Yes. He’d attended when he was a boy. As did his father. And so on, and so on. Well, when the athletics department wanted to award a football scholarship to Elijah, the headmaster had a few things to say about him, which Gampy overheard, unbeknownst to him. Gampy figured the man saw an opportunity to…cleanse the school and took it.”
“Cleanse?”
“Eli was black.”
My heart instantly goes out to this poor boy. I never went to private school, but I’ve experienced my fair share of racism. It doesn’t matter where you live, how accepting your neighbors claim to be of people from different backgrounds and cultures. At some point, you’ll experience some sort of discrimination based on the color of your skin. It’s inevitable. Doesn’t make it right, but as my mama taught me, you need to rise above, not stoop to their level, although it’s sometimes difficult.
“Eli was a year ahead of me,” Wes continues. “I didn’t know him well, but I had a few classes with him. He was a good kid. Quiet. Wouldn’t hurt a fly, unless they were on the football field.” He chuckles to himself, remembering the past. “Like I said, the arrest didn’t sit right with Gampy, so he offered to defend Eli.”
“Which pissed off Lydia.” Julia takes a long sip of her wine before continuing. “After all, she was BFFs with the headmaster’s wife. In their eyes, Gampy offering to help Eli was like saying he didn’t believe the victim.” The more she speaks, the more her annoyance at the situation shows.
“What happened?” I ask.
“The case made headlines, and there were a lot of strong opinions on both sides,” Wes states. “Gampy fought to get him a fair trial, which wasn’t easy. In the end, no matter what he did, no matter the holes he poked in the supposed narrative or the lack of any physical evidence, it wasn’t enough. The jury made their decision before they even walked into that room and listened to opening statements. But Gampy refused to give up the fight. He appealed. Threw everything he had into it.”
“Lost everything because of it, too,” Julia adds sadly.
“Lost everything?”
“Eli’s parents lost their jobs,” she explains. “Their employers claimed it had nothing to do with the charges filed against their son, but it’s obvious it did. Since this case was big news, they struggled to find other jobs. They could have moved, but they wanted Eli to have a home to return to once charges were dropped and he was released from custody. So Gampy paid all their bills, their mortgage. They already had two kids in college, and he also paid for their tuition so they didn’t have to worry about it. That’s how strongly he believed in Eli’s innocence, especially when the baby was born and… Surprise! It was white. When Gampy brought that up to the girl’s father, he argued the baby was light for a black baby. But let me tell you. That baby wasn’t just light. Her skin was extremely fair. Even pastier than my Irish skin.”
“That must have raised some eyebrows, didn’t it?”
“Of course.” Julia nods. “Gampy asked to have a paternity test done, which her father refused. But his big mistake was asking for a civil order of support. Which was just vindictive at this point, considering Eli had been sentenced to serve fifteen years in prison and he couldn’t remotely afford it. However, the second he demanded child support, Eli had the right to verify his paternity. I’ll let you guess how that worked out.”
“He wasn’t the father,” I breathe.
“No, he wasn’t.” Julia gives me a tight-lipped smile.
“So was his conviction overturned?”
“Gampy tried, based on new exculpatory evidence. Unfortunately, the appeals court claimed that the pregnancy wasn’t the sole piece of evidence tying him to the rape. It didn’t matter that there was no evidence tying him to the rape. Period.”
“That’s so fucked up,” I say, unable to stop myself, although I’m not surprised. The criminal justice system isn’t too kind to black and brown people. Once you’re arrested, they’ll do everything to keep you in the system.
“Gampy fought to free him until his dying day,” Wes states. “And Meemaw fully supported his fight. He went to the media. Told the story. It made headlines for a while, and some people put pressure on the legislature to reform the criminal justice system. But then September 11th happened, and the world had a new fight, something more important than one innocent black man sitting in prison.”
“Even though we all know there’s more than just one innocent black man sitting in prison,” Julia adds.
“Did he ever get out?” My heart aches over the idea of this boy sitting in a prison for any length of time for a crime he didn’t commit. I don’t even question his innocence. I can feel it in my soul, like Gampy probably could.
Wes’ expression falls and he solemnly shakes his head. “He hung himself in his cell.”
My hands fly to my throat, an ache within. How desperate he must have been to end his life in such a cruel and painful manner. All because one man saw his daughter’s promiscuity as a way to eliminate a bl
ack man from his precious school. I wish I could say I’m surprised.
I’m not.
I wish I could say Elijah’s case is unique.
It’s not.
“How did Gampy react?”
“He never found out,” Wes says somberly. “He’d passed away a month prior. I think that’s why Eli did it. With Gampy gone, he lost hope of anyone else fighting for him.”
I swallow through the lump in my throat as we all sit in silence. It’s such a tragic story, one that never should have happened. The world needs more people like Gampy. People who are willing to see an injustice and fight it instead of sitting back and allowing it to happen.
“Well…” Julia’s bright voice cuts through as she stands from her chair. “Sorry to end the night on such a downer, but I should get that one to her bed before she asks to sleep down here every night.”
Wes carefully extracts himself from Imogene, getting to his feet and scooping her into his arms.
“I’ll bring her up,” he offers.
“I can do it,” Julia insists.
“I know, but I’ve already got her.” He glances at me as I stand. “I’ll be right back. Make yourself at home.”
Julia heads toward me and wraps her arms around me. “Thanks for coming tonight. And for agreeing to work on what will be a challenging remodel.”
“Maybe,” I say once she pulls away. “But I’ve never backed down from a challenge.”
“Which is why I hired you. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Londyn.” She grins, then follows Wes from the living room, their feet quiet as they head up to the second floor.
Now that I’m alone for the first time all night, I blow out a long breath. Tonight went better than I expected. In truth, I wasn’t sure what I expected. But learning about Meemaw and Gampy, as well as Wes and Julia, was exactly what I needed.
Since I made Atlanta my home, I haven’t really made any friends, apart from Hazel and Diego. I’ve kept to myself. Worked every waking hour of my life. Avoided all serious relationships, not wanting to surrender the control I fought hard to regain. But maybe Hazel’s right. Maybe it’s time to stop keeping people out. Maybe it’s time to start trusting again.
“Sorry about that.”
Wes’ low voice enters my subconscious as I admire the display of Imogene’s baby photos covering the console table behind the sofa.
I notice there aren’t any of Wes’ parents, as if the family skipped a generation from his grandparents to him and Julia. My heart squeezes at the thought.
“No worries.” I flash him a smile before returning my attention to the pictures. “I was just admiring Imogene as a baby. She was beautiful.”
“I wasn’t around much when she was born since I lived up in Boston at the time. But now I’m able to make up for everything I missed.”
His mouth curves up into a smile, his white teeth dazzling against his skin that seems to have seen some sun since I saw him last weekend.
“Do you want another glass of wine? Something else?”
“Thanks for the offer, but I do need to drive.” I steal a glance at the clock in the kitchen, surprised to see it’s nearly eleven o’clock. “Speaking of which, I should get going. I didn’t mean to stay this late. I was having too much fun.”
“I had a great time, too. Which is why I’m still wide awake, even though I need to get up at the crack of dawn to get to the house. We’re starting on the insulation and drywall tomorrow.”
“Did you already get all the wiring done?”
He beams. “Sure did.”
“Wow. That was, well…fast.”
“Not really.” He shrugs. “I knew what needed to be done and didn’t wait to take action.”
“Most people I know tend to waffle before pulling the trigger on such a huge undertaking.”
He closes the distance between us, blue eyes piercing mine as he peers down at me. “One thing you’ll learn about me, Londyn, is that when I set my mind to something, I take action. I don’t waffle. I do whatever it takes to get what I want.”
A shiver trickles down my spine, and I part my lips, on the brink of asking him what it is he wants. But I fear I already know the answer. That he’s not just talking about the wiring. If he were, his gaze wouldn’t be dark with desire. His breathing wouldn’t be uneven. His jaw wouldn’t be tense.
“Well then…,” I say brightly, increasing the distance before I lose the little self-control I have left. “I’ll let you get to sleep.”
I head toward the stool in the kitchen, sling my bag onto my shoulder, then continue toward the front door, doing my best to ignore Wes’ presence looming behind me, but it’s impossible. From the moment we met, everything about him has consumed me. When he’s near, his aura envelopes me, making me only think about him, forgetting everything else.
What is it about him that has me all out of sorts when no other man has come remotely close to penetrating my tough exterior? But with one look, one smile, one wink, I want to break all the rules I’ve lived by for years.
And I can’t have that. Not now. Not ever.
I’m about to turn the doorknob when Wes leans past me, his body skimming mine as he covers my hand with his. “Allow me.”
My pulse skyrockets as his earthy scent envelopes me. It hypnotizes me, inducing me into a dreamlike stupor. I have no idea how long we stand there, him behind me, his hand covering mine, neither one of us making a move to turn the knob. It’s an innocent touch, but this moment is one of the most erotic experiences I’ve had in recent history. His skin on mine is enthralling, addictive…electrifying.
“I should go,” I finally manage to squeak out.
“Yes.” His voice comes out a mix between a plea and a growl. “You should.”
“Then we need to open the door.”
“Yes. We do.”
It’s silent for a beat before a low chuckle vibrates from his chest, filling the high-ceilinged foyer.
“What the hell are you doing to me?”
I push out a breath, grateful for the break in tension. “The same thing you’re doing to me. Which is all the more reason I need to leave.”
“I suppose it is.” On a long exhale, my hand still under his, he twists the knob.
My heart deflates slightly when he opens the door and the summer night air makes its way into the foyer, wiping clean whatever just transpired between us. It doesn’t seem real. Like we were in a dream and now have been cruelly forced back to earth.
No longer sensing his presence right behind me, I slowly turn around. “Well…” I smile awkwardly, pushing a few curls out of my face, a nervous habit of mine. “Thanks again.”
I spin from him, hurrying down the front steps and toward my economical SUV, clicking my key fob. I’m about to open the door when I hear Wes’ voice.
“Londyn,” he whisper-shouts.
I whirl around, inhaling sharply when I see him advancing toward me, his greedy eyes raking over me. My pulse skyrockets, my core tightening as desire floods my veins. Chest heaving, I back up against my SUV, my body aching for Wes to reach out and yank me against him, despite my brain reminding me it’s a bad idea.
But instead of closing the remaining distance between us and crushing his lips to mine in a mind-numbing kiss, he stops a foot away. He scrapes his fingers through his hair, pulling his lips between his teeth, seemingly torn. Then he lifts his gaze to mine.
“Are you busy tomorrow?”
I give him a sideways look. “I thought you were working on the house.”
“I am. I… I was thinking maybe you’d want to come help.”
“With the drywall?” I arch a brow.
“You don’t have to,” he adds quickly. “It’s not part of your job. I just… I really enjoyed spending time with you tonight. And I’d like more of that.”
A few minutes ago, I probably would have agreed, too cast under his spell to think clearly. But now I can. And I don’t know if spending more time with him is wise. After one night, I find
my resolve breaking. What will happen after spending even more time together?
“Wes, I—”
“It’s okay,” he interrupts before I can voice my concerns. “Don’t worry about it. I have more than enough guys who can help.” He turns, heading back toward the house.
Worrying my lower lip, I watch him retreat. Of course, Hazel’s voice chooses this moment to sound in my subconscious, reminding me to start taking risks again. To stop letting him control me. To leave myself open to what could be instead of dictating what will never be because it doesn’t comport with my firmly established rules.
Sometimes I really hate that she’s such a persuasive voice of reason.
“What time?” I call out as he’s about to disappear inside.
He stops abruptly, glancing over his shoulder. “Excuse me?”
“Tomorrow. What time should I be there?”
His eyes light up with the excitement of a kid seeing Disneyland for the first time. “Eight o’clock?”
I nod. “I’ll be there.”
“I look forward to it.”
I fight back my urge to tell him I am, as well.
“Sweet dreams, Londyn,” he says smoothly, then closes the door.
Once I slide into my car, I rest my forehead on the steering wheel, heaving out a long sigh. One thing is certain.
This is either a really good idea or a really bad idea.
Either way, I’ll find out tomorrow.
Chapter Ten
Londyn
As I pull up to Gampy and Meemaw’s house a few minutes before eight on Saturday morning, it feels like a different place than the last time I was here. When I’d driven down this long, winding path that first time, I’d wondered if I was in the right place, everything desolate and quiet. That’s no longer the case.
Several vans and utility trucks line the dirt path. Pallets of drywall sit in front of the porch, dozens of rolls of insulation stacked beside it. From the noise already coming from within, it appears Wes’ crew is already hard at it.
I fight the urge to grab my compact out of my purse to check my face, reminding myself I’m at a construction site. As it is, I’ll probably be the only woman. No need to make matters worse by one of them catching me applying makeup. Based on the humidity in the air, it’ll only take a matter of minutes for it to melt off anyway.
