by Tina Martin
Tears come to my eyes when, in all of this, I feel the loss of my parents, especially today. Last year on this date, I lost my mother. The pain is forever – I know that now. I just wish I could talk to her and my father again. I’d tell them how much I miss them, how good I’m doing and how much I love them.
WHEN WE START our closing duties for the day, Jamie and Sonji come to the back offering their apologies. I’m still heated about it. I say, “Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to him.”
“We will when we see him again,” Jamie says. “You know I’m not that kind of person who thinks I’m better than anybody. I was just taken aback. I mean, after all, this is the same man who followed you home and who’s been hanging out behind the store. He had us in panic mode for a while and now it’s like you’re cool with him.”
“I am, and I’m not asking you to be. I just want you to be courteous. Don’t treat him like you’re better.”
Sonji nodded. “I never looked at it like that. It was more of a safety issue for me, but anyway, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I say, caving to her huge, sad eyes.
“I suppose if you’ve vetted him and you’re okay with him, we should at least give him the benefit of the doubt,” she says.
“That’s all I ask,” I tell her. “I mean, I’m no expert on humans by any means, but he comes across as genuine. If he’s not, it’ll reveal itself.”
“Because what’s done in the dark, always comes to the light, honey,” Jamie says. “You know what—is he coming back ‘cause I owe that man an apology?”
“I’m not sure if he’s coming back. I think y’all ran him away for good.”
I say it in a joking way, but I’m not sure what Cain’s plans are. I just hope he’s home when I get there so I can apologize to him on their behalf.
CHAPTER NINE
Ahmalee
A huge weight is lifted off of my shoulders when I get home and see Cain sauntering toward my car. I feel like I can breathe because he’s here. Their insults didn’t run him away, and I have a chance to smooth things over. I notice right away he’s changed out of the clothes he had on this morning. He’s wearing shorts and a tank top. He looks sweaty like he’s been hard at work, but on what? I didn’t give him anything to do today.
“Hi,” I say getting out of the car as the summer heat slaps me in the face.
“Hi.”
“What have you been doing?”
“Working. There’s always something to do around here.”
“There is, but it’s really hot out here today, Cain. I purposely didn’t give you anything to do because I knew you were concentrating on job hunting and getting your name back out there and—”
“Yeah, and I did that.”
I dart my head back. Why does he have an attitude about it?
“And I knew how hot it would be today. It’s almost a hundred degrees out here. You look like you got a tan.”
“I don’t care about a tan.”
He’s not in a joking mood. Actually, I can’t decipher his mood. “O-okay. I was just pointing it out since it proves my point that you’ve been out in the sun for a long time. What were you doing exactly?”
“Fulfilling my obligations to you,” he gripes.
Maybe I’m overheating because this man has my head spinning. I try to get through to him by saying, “But Cain, I didn’t give you anything to do today.”
He looks down, rolls some rocks beneath his shoe, then kick the pebbles away and looks at me. “I noticed you had a small garden by the shed.”
“Had. Yes. I tried a garden two years ago, but whatever the bugs didn’t eat, the rabbits got ahold of. I wasn’t going to attempt one this year.”
“Well, it’s done. I planted some tomatoes, potatoes, peppers and cucumbers.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. It’s too late in the season to be planting seeds, so I picked up some plants from The Garden Center.”
Is he playing with me? He’s playing with me, right?
I walk to the backyard to see what he’s done and sure enough, there are four perfectly neat rows of plants, fenced in with chicken wire. I can’t believe my eyes. How’d he get the rows so neat and even? It looks like it was professionally done. The bigger question is, why would he do this when I didn’t ask him to? Where did he get the money to buy plants and fencing? Wherever he got the money, why didn’t he use it for something other than making me a garden of which I didn’t ask for?
I turn to look at him. These questions are screaming inside of my mouth, waiting to get out. I want to ask all of them simultaneously, but I resist. “It looks nice. I’m going to go inside and get ready for dinner.”
“You don’t like it,” he says.
“I like it.”
“You don’t look like you like it,” he tells me, following me inside. “I thought I would at least get a smile. Or a thank you from you.”
I drop my purse on the counter and scratch my head. Irritation is setting in. I’m trying to be as cool and as cordial as I can, especially considering how rude Sonji and Jamie were to him this morning, but he’s making it difficult. I like to have things done a certain way. I have a hard time dealing with situations that don’t make sense, and do you know what doesn’t make sense? A person making a garden that I didn’t ask for in the midst of a freakin’ heatwave. That doesn’t make any sense! Why does he insist on making it harder for himself when I’m trying so hard to make life easy for him?
I say, “I like the garden, but I didn’t ask you to do that, Cain. And where did you get money to buy the plants and that fencing?”
His eyes flicker with disbelief. He looks offended. “Unbelievable.”
“What?” I ask, crossing my arms. “It’s a legitimate question. Where’d you get it?”
“You think I stole it? I’m homeless and without a job so I must’ve stolen some money to make you a garden. Is that what you think of me?”
“You’re making assumptions. I didn’t say you stole anything. I simply asked where you got the money.”
He strokes his beard and says, “I did some lawn work for a few people today. That’s how I got the money.”
“I didn’t ask you to do that? I didn’t ask you to do any of that.”
“So what?” he retorts.
I snap my head back. “So what? What do you mean, so what?”
“So I’m supposed to wait for you to ask me to do everything now?” He’s heated. I see veins bulging out of his neck like ropes.
“Cain, I—”
“You didn’t ask me to clean your gutters! Did you ask me to clean your gutters, Ahmalee? Did you ask me to paint the trim on your house? Did you ask me to plant those flowers around your mailbox that you never noticed by the way?”
“I did notice them.”
“Well, you didn’t say anything. You didn’t ask me to wash your car, or clean off the porch, or organize the shed and take the trash bins to the curb. You didn’t ask me to do any of those things, so why is this particular thing such a big deal to you?”
“It’s not a big deal—”
“You’re making it one!” he snaps.
“You know what—I’m not about to argue with you. I just got home from work. I’m going to go get comfortable. How about you do the same? Don’t do any more work for me today. Just—just don’t.”
He shakes his head. Looks flustered, but it’s probably the heat that’s got him heated and looking like he’s about to pass out with all that hair on his head. Why are men so hardheaded? Doesn’t matter if they’re homeless, rich, broke, black, white. Doesn’t matter. They all know how to work a woman’s nerves.
“Ah, so this is what happens when Ahmalee gets upset.”
“No, this is what happens when men are stubborn.”
“You haven’t seen stubborn, sweetheart,” he says in an unnervingly calm voice. “And you know what—I’m not done working.” He gives me a challenging stare.
My eyes narrow. “You are
done working.”
“Who’s going to make me stop? You?” He smirks.
“Oh, so this is funny to you?” I ask.
“No, it’s not funny,” he says. The smirk disappears from his face as he takes a step closer to me. “It’s sad, really, because I’m the one getting yelled at for doing something nice for you.”
“I’m not yelling!” I say. Yelling…
“You’re upset—borderline angry. Never seen you angry. Didn’t think you had it in you.”
“I’m—” I bite my tongue. I was going to deny being angry but even these four walls know that’s a lie.
“I get it,” he says. “I get it. It’s okay for you to order me around because in your mind, you’re the slave owner and I’m the slave. Is that what we’re doing?”
“Did you just call me a freakin’ slave owner?”
“Yeah. You own me, right? A slave is not greater than his master, is he? Didn’t Jesus say something along those lines?”
“Wow! You’re quoting Jesus now. I see what you’re doing, Cain. You’re trying to pick a fight with me and I’m not here for it. Do whatever you want. You wanna freakin’ go out there and die of a heat stroke? Do that. Do whatever makes you happy. I’m done.” I turn to head for the door, needing desperately to seek refuge in my bedroom.
Cain yells, “Ahmalee!”
I stop again and look at him because I’ve never heard him say my name so loud. I’ve never heard anyone say my name that loud. And Cain is usually on the mild-tempered side, but maybe that was all a front. He takes a few steps closer to me and for the first time since he’s been here, I legitimately feel threatened. I defended this man this morning and now I’m having visions of him wielding tools over here, knocking me out and burying me next to the beautiful garden he just revamped – like on some Johnny Depp, Secret Window type level.
He takes slow steps toward me until I’m pinned between him and the counter. My heart is pounding in my ears because I know I’m completely at his mercy. He knows I’m at his mercy.
He says, “I’m not where I should be in life right now.”
I look away from the pain and anger in his eyes.
“Look at me, Ahmalee.”
“Cain—”
“I said, look at me,” he demands.
I obey and look at him. His chest is puffing in out quickly.
He continues, “I’m not where I should be in life. I get that, but I’m still a man!”
“I understand that—”
“I wasn’t done talking.”
I don’t say anything more. He’s already on edge. I don’t want to aggravate him any further.
He says, “If I’ve done something to offend you, I can understand why you’re so upset, but I did nothing but plant a garden because I thought it would make you happy, especially being that I have nothing else to offer you. Nothing!”
“That’s not true.”
His frown deepens. “What do I have to offer you? And don’t say my friendship and that crap you say about enjoying my company because we both know that’s not true. You don’t enjoy my company. You tolerate me.”
His words stab my soul. I want to defend myself, but he’s not being rational at the moment. He’s angry. All I do is cower beneath the frustration of his wrath. When it’s too intense, I look away. He doesn’t like it when I look away.
He cups my face in his large hands, angles my head so I’m looking up at him. I feel his fingertips on my scalp. I’m upset, but this closeness excites me. I love the way his hands feel on my face. Anger breeds passion. It’s what I see in his eyes. Can he see it in mine?
He blinks quickly, then releases me like he’s shocked that he has me pinned to the counter. He’s snapped back into reality. He backs away from me and heads out the door.
What in the world just happened?
I go to my bedroom, place my purse on the bed and peel off my sweaty clothes. I set the shower to lukewarm and stand there, letting the water rain down on me. Tears come – I knew they would. The garden, fighting with Cain, reliving the loss of my parents – it’s all too much.
The garden – I know I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. It was a sensitive subject for me because the garden was my mother’s idea. She was one of those people who believed we should grow our own produce. She always told me the vegetables in the grocery stores were laced with preservation chemicals and the best organic food one could eat was the stuff they grew in their backyard.
She always had a garden. She wanted me to have one and so one day she came over and we worked on one together. I wasn’t as skilled at growing things as she was. There’s nothing green about my thumb. I’ve been known to kill fake plants, so real ones certainly don’t stand a chance.
But my mother, she was the opposite. That little garden we made together prospered the first year thanks to her growing hands. This year, I had no intention of redoing the garden – not without her here to help me. What would be the point?
I slather my body in Oatmeal Milk & Honey lotion to replace the moisture I lost in all the heat of the day. I dress in sweatpants and a white cropped t-shirt. I don’t bother putting on a bra. It’s not like Cain will be back after what just happened. I still can’t believe it. We argued because he tried to do something nice for me. That’s really what it comes down to. I was wrong. I’ll take responsibility for that when I see him again.
I gather my locs in a ponytail and come out of the room. I know I need to prepare something for dinner, but I’m not in the mood for cooking an in-depth meal.
I walk to the kitchen and to my surprise, Cain is sitting at the table. He’s pushed away from it leaned back with a look of distress on his face. I thought he’d left, but here he is. He appears much calmer now. I don’t get the vibe that he’s about to pass out from heat exhaustion, but a flustered look remains.
I say, “I didn’t plan anything for dinner, so—um—let me see what I can whip up real quick.”
I look in the refrigerator and take out a head of lettuce, two tomatoes and one cucumber. Looks like it’s going to be a salad with chicken strips. It’s about the fastest thing I can prepare. How ironic? We argue over a garden and here I am preparing garden food for dinner.
“I can help you with something,” he tells me.
“No. You’ve done enough for one day. You sit back and relax. As a matter of fact, let me get you some more water,” I say after noticing his glass only has ice in it.
I grab a new glass, a bigger one, fill it with ice and water then walk it over to him. I place it on the table. He reaches for me, wraps his brawny hand around my forearm. I look at him – peering into his eyes.
He grimaces. “You’ve been crying.”
“No. I—”
“I wasn’t asking you. I’m telling you. You’ve been crying.”
“I’m fine, Cain. I just had a moment.”
I use my free hand to peel his fingers from my arm one-by-one. He lets me. It’s the only reason I’m free. I know I’m no match for his strength.
I take out a cutting board then return to the sink to wash the lettuce. Through the window, I can see the garden.
“Listen, Ahmalee,” Cain says. “I overstepped my boundaries and upset you and I—I didn’t want to do that. That wasn’t my intention. I was trying to do something nice for you. I don’t have anything to offer you besides work. So, that’s what I do. I work. I didn’t mean to cause you any stress. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not you, Cain. It’s—”
“It’s what?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Then why were you crying?”
“I never told you I was crying.”
“You don’t have to tell me. I can see all the signs on your face. I want to know why. I mean, I know I’m not the ideal person to talk to but I thought since I’ve shared so much about myself, you could at least open up and tell me about what I’ve done to upset you to this degree.”
“It’s not you!” I snap, angrily slici
ng lettuce. “Can you just stop? Please. Just stop. I don’t want—” I stop slicing the lettuce and squeeze the handle of the knife as hard as I squeeze my eyes, trying to force myself not to cry.
And then I feel his arms around me. My eyes are still closed. My body trembles. Cain unravels my hand to remove the knife. It falls into the sink bowl. And then he manually turns me around to face him. I open my eyes and look up at him. Tears roll down my face. He closes me in his embrace and I cry. I fall apart. I’m so hurt, so broken, I feel like I can’t breathe. I gasp, trying to catch my breath.
“Ahmalee,” Cain says, literally holding me up. “Hey. Ahmalee. Hey…look at me.”
He lifts me so I’m sitting on the counter next to the sink. My brain is foggy. I feel the familiar shortness of breath I felt at my parents’ funeral. Feel his hand on my face as he requests that I look at him.
“Ahmalee?”
I blink to focus my eyes on him.
“Take a deep breath,” he says.
I do what he asks, pull in a long breath and release it over and over again. He steps away from me to get the glass of water I handed to him moments ago. Now he’s holding it in front of my lips.
“Drink.”
I take a sip. The water gives me some oxygen. I drink more, then pace my breaths.
He sets the glass on the counter. His arms are caged around me, hands on the edge of the counter where I’m sitting. “Are you okay?”
I nod quickly, hoping that would be enough for him to walk away from me. He doesn’t. I glance up quickly and look away. I can’t believe I had an episode in front of him.
“Ahmalee.”
I look at him. “Yes?”
“You can talk to me. You know that, right?”
“Yes.”
“You say you have this ability to know when my mood shifts—when my energy is off. Your energy is off right now, and I want to know why.”
