“You’re carrying a lot on your shoulders, aren’t you?”
“No more than I can bear.”
He eyed her silently. Her commitment to this place was as strong as she. “So, if you had a million dollars to spend here, what would you do?”
“Find another 1.5 mil to go with it, tear this sucker down, and start over.”
Myk chuckled, “Another 1.5?”
“Yes, I’ve calced it all out. To fix everything and to put in place all the programs we need, it would cost2.5 million, to start.”
Myk studied her closely. Man she was something. “Someday, when you get the time, I’d like to see those numbers.”
“Sure.”
When he asked then to see the center’s current books, Sarita found the old leather ledger hidden away beneath the piles on her desk and handed it to him. She didn’t know why he wanted it, but she had nothing to hide. She did wonder if he planned to use the books further to justify his decision to appoint a new administrator, and that made her resentment rise all over again.
Myk could see by the columns of entries that the little money she’d gotten over the years had been well spent—food for the senior shut-ins, reimbursements for gas for people who’d provided transportation to health clinics and doctor appointments. She’d stretched every penny until it screamed, and, according to the books, hadn’t spent a cent on anything not directly related to her programs. “Do you pay yourself a salary?”
She shook her head. “Nope.”
“The pension from your uncles is all you live on?”
Sarita told herself not to be offended. “Yes, Chandler, but I get by okay. Saint sends me cash when he can.”
“Which you probably spend on the center, am I right?”
Her chin went up defensively. “Sometimes, not all the time.”
In the listings in the ledger Myk came across a fifteen-hundred-dollar grant she’d gotten from one of his foundations three years ago. She purchased eyeglasses, child safety seats, and secondhand appliances for the building’s kitchen. He also noted an entry for a scholarship fund. “How much is in your scholarship fund?”
“Not a dime. We ran out of money eighteen months ago.” Sarita was starting to wonder where the interrogation was going. He couldn’t possibly be questioning her spending decisions, too.
“It says here, you gave out,” he looked up. “Five?”
“Yes, Chandler, five. Five graduating seniors got one hundred dollars each. The children couldn’t go to college without clothes.”
Myk tried to soothe away the challenge flashing in her eyes. “I’m not criticizing, Sarita.” Not by any means, he only wished he had known of her plight earlier. He would have gladly given her ten times the amount. “Why didn’t you apply for more grants?” he asked softly.
“Because the last city administration spent all the Federal neighborhood money fixing up downtown. Little groups like mine were left out.”
A knock interrupted their conversation, and in walked the center’s most prominent senior citizen, Silas Devine. Sarita made the introductions.
A grinning Silas leaned on his cane and pumped Myk’s hand. “So you’re the man behind Chandler Works. Glad to meet you, Mr. Chandler. Real glad!”
Sarita thought to herself, trust Silas to know all about Chandler.
“Call me, Mykal, sir.”
Silas was nodding approvingly. “It’s about time Miss Girl jumped the broom. Been telling her that for years,” he pointed out, while continuing to look Myk straight in the eye. “Yeah, real glad to meet you.”
And then as if Silas suddenly remembered where his loyalties were supposed to lie, he glanced Sarita’s way. “Is he treating you all right?”
What else could she say, but, “Yes, Silas. He hasn’t sent me to bed without dinner for at least three days.”
Silas seemed so outdone meeting Chandler, the sarcasm sailed right over his gray head. “Good. You treat her right. Mind you, she’s a little opinionated, and a whole lot bossy, but a man is just what she needs. A man,” he emphasized, looking over at Sarita sternly. “Not that jelly-spined musician she was going out with last summer. She walked all over him.”
Sarita loved Silas dearly, but right now, she wanted to strangle him. “Are you done?”
“Almost. You think your brother the mayor’s at home? We need him to call the water department about those busted pipes.”
“Silas!” Sarita said appalled.
He waved her off. “Hush, girl. If you marry a rich and powerful man, you’re supposed to take advantage of it.”
Sarita couldn’t believe her ears, well she could; Silas was always saying something outrageous.
The look on Sarita’s face made Myk laugh, “Silas, you and I are going to get along fine.” In Myk’s opinion, anyone who could talk to Sarita like that and live to tell about it was someone Myk wanted as a friend. To further get Sarita’s goat, Myk asked Silas, “Tell me about this musician.”
Silas opened his mouth to respond, but Sarita was quicker. “Save it for later. Tell me about the basement.”
As far as Silas could tell the water was from a broken main, but the city water department people refused to come and look at it.
Sarita asked, “Why?”
“They say they can’t do anything about the main until the water level drops.”
“How long will that be?”
“Soon as we get the water pumped out.”
“What do you mean, we? It’s their main.”
“They only pump if it’s city property; this is private.”
Sarita had heard some asinine things in her life; this ranked right near the top. “So, in the meantime, we wait for what, typhoid, cholera before they get their butts out here. Don’t they know we service children?”
“Sure they do, and so does the Health Department. Your buddy ‘News’ Bertram made sure of that. She called them and told them what was going on. They came out and told us get the place cleaned up by Wednesday or they’ll shut us down for being a health menace.”
Myk was lost. “Who or what is a News Bertram?”
Sarita answered, “She’s an old biddy who if she doesn’t stop sticking that nosy nose of hers in our business, I’m going to chop it off.”
“Now, Sarita—” Silas warned.
“Now, nothing. She’s been tap-dancing on our last nerve since the day she moved into the neighborhood. If she paid half as much attention to her crack-dealing son—”
The look of amusement on Chandler’s face made her calm down. He probably thought she was crazy going on like she was. “Well, the woman’s a menace.”
Silas added, “Your ‘Army’ paid her a visit this morning to tell her just that.”
Myk was lost again “Her army? Are you talking about the young men in the berets?”
“No, their mamas,” Silas explained. “I call them the Army because they’re the biggest bunch of order-giving women on the eastside. Of course, they get that from Little Touissant over there. She’s the one organized them, and there’s been hell to pay around here ever since.”
“Silas,” Sarita said warningly.
As was his habit when he was speaking the Silas Truth, he ignored Sarita and kept talking, “Anyway, that’s why I asked about your brother. Grandson, if you have any pull downtown, we can really use it.”
Sarita added, “And Chandler, you are the landlord.”
Myk looked from Silas to Sarita; the senior citizen had hope in his eyes; his wife appeared skeptical. He wondered if pumping the water out of her basement would impress her more than all the material things he’d been showering her with. Something told it him would, so he reached for his phone and punched in the number.
Because it was late afternoon and all of his men were on jobs, it took Myk almost an hour to line up a crew and borrow a couple of pumps from one of his construction sites. By the time all the arrangements were made and the men and equipment arrived, dusk had fallen.
The men went to wor
k immediately. Wearing hip-high boots, they waded down into the murky depths of the unlighted basement. While they did their evaluations, Myk sent some of the assembled Guard captains out into the surrounding streets to make sure the sewer grates were free of leaves and debris. He knew Little Touissant would have a fit if they pumped out all of the water only to have the streets flood. When the patrol reported back to Myk, the pumps were fired up.
Although Sarita wanted to be in the basement helping the men, Myk convinced her that they knew their job, and she’d only be in the way. She eventually agreed, grudgingly, and concentrated on coordinating the cleanup efforts.
Throughout the evening, mothers and fathers drifted into the center with offers to help, and to bring over plates of good hot, home-cooked food for the men operating the pumps, and for Sarita and her new husband. It was the husband most came to see. Jerome’s mother, Shirley for instance. Bearing a thermos of coffee in one hand and a freshly baked pound cake in the other, she made no bones about why she’d come. Shirley Lee was in her midthirties. She and Sarita had been friends for years. She, like Silas, declared the handsome, dark-skinned Chandler to be a much better choice than “that old musician you were walking all over.”
The comments on Sarita’s choice were echoed by all comers, and after a while, she just threw up her hands. Chandler, in the process of stuffing himself with peach cobbler, fried chicken, pound cake, green beans flavored with chunks of ham and onions, homemade rolls, coffee and everything else the Army had to offer, basked in all the attention, listened to it, and smiled.
At nine that evening, Myk shut down the basement’s operation and sent the men home. They’d each find a bonus in their paychecks at the end of the week for helping out. Watching them leave, a confused Sarita pointed out to Chandler, “But there’s still water down there.”
“Sarita, those men started work this morning at 5 A.M. For a couple of them this was the sixth straight 5 A.M. start. They have families, and some just want to go home and take a shower. I know you’re concerned about your place, but I can’t ask them to stay any longer.”
She knew she was being selfish and that she should be thankful to have gotten any help at all, but she’d wanted the job finished that night. “You’re right. I get carried away sometimes.”
They were back in her office, and she was standing with her back to him looking onto the dark streets below. He could see the weary slump in her shoulders. Even though he’d had to practically carry her out of the basement so the men could do their job, she’d still dragged hoses, hauled tools, and generally helped out when and where she could. Seeing her in action today showed him facets of Sarita he’d been unaware of. He knew she hadn’t cared for all the cracks from her neighbors and friends about this whole marriage business, but it hadn’t put a damper on the generosity of spirit shown to both young and old. And everyone loved her. Wherever he went people told him tales of Sarita’s good deeds, and cautioned him to treat her right and treasure her for the precious individual that she was. More than a few men threatened to “kick his ass” if he caused her to shed even a tear. To them she was not Little Touissant but Little Queen, and they worshiped the ground she walked on.
“Ready to go home?” he asked quietly.
“I am home.” She turned from the window, and he could see the unshed tears in her eyes. “If you take this away from me, Mykal, I will truly die.”
Her unshielded emotions were there for him to see, and his heart swelled in response to her use of his given name. “I know, Sarita.”
“I have never begged anyone for anything in my whole life, but I’m going to now. Let me keep my center. I will cook for you. I will clean for you. I will—”
“Don’t say it. When we make love I don’t want it to be tied to anything but passion.”
She turned away to hide her tears.
He continued speaking, “I’ve seen how much these folks mean to you, Sarita. I might be a rich, arrogant bastard, but I’m not blind. I apologize for even thinking you could be replaced here.”
His confession left her stunned. Mykal Chandler apologizing? Did the Army put something in his food?
“You look surprised.” And he smiled.
“I just never expected to hear you say something like that, that’s all.”
“Never is a pretty strong word. Contrary to what some might think, I do have a heart.” Then his voice changed. “Would you really cook for me?”
That caught her by surprise, too. She searched his face for some hint as to what he was really thinking, but she saw nothing reflected there but honesty. “Do you want me to cook for you?”
“Yes, I do. I don’t expect three squares a day—but every now and then would be appreciated.”
Again, honesty.
“You aren’t lying about not replacing me here?”
He shook his head.
She looked away for a moment to gather her jumbled thoughts and emotions. He’d ridden to her rescue like the famous Tenth Cavalry. Granted, she and people might have eventually found a way to dry out the basement without his help, but his expertise and connections made the whole mess easier to manage. She owed him, and if he wanted her to cook for him, she would. Sarita always paid her debts. “First, I want to thank you for helping with all the water. You and your men were a blessing. Second, I will cook for you, if that’s what you want.”
“It’s what I want.”
His eyes seemed to be saying so much more, and Sarita’s breathing became as erratic as her heartbeat. Her attraction to him had grown by leaps and bounds over the past few days, and his help today only made things worse.
“So, are you ready to go home, now?” he asked.
“Will I be coming back here tomorrow?”
“Yes, and if I can’t come with you, I’ll send Walter. I don’t want you here alone.”
She wanted to protest but decided it was a decent compromise. “Okay, then let’s go home.”
On the way out she stuck her head in the kitchen to say good night to the small group of Army members washing up the dinner dishes. “See you tomorrow,” Shirley called back. “And take care of that man. He was good to us today.”
Sarita smiled and let Chandler escort her out into the chilly night. “Before we go, can we stop by my place a minute? I just want to make sure everything’s okay.”
“Sure.”
Following her directions he drove to her small upstairs flat and after parking the car, walked with her to the door. Inside, the place was cold. She turned on a lamp, and the soft light revealed a place that from Myk’s point of view rivaled her small office in size. He ran his eyes over the worn but comfortable-looking furniture, the houseplants, and the old-fashioned lamps. In a way the interior reminded him of his grandmother’s place, especially the big red roses decorating the fabric of the couch cover. While he took a seat on that same couch, she took a brief tour to make sure everything was where it should be. Once she assured herself that all was well, she watered the plants, grabbed some personal items and threw them in a plastic grocery bag, looked through the mail left on top of the TV by, she assumed, Saint, and proceeded with Chandler out of the door. After a quick turn of the locks, they headed back to the car.
Inside the car and surrounded by the warmth of the heat and the soft jazz from the CD player, Sarita began to relax. Her first order of business would be a long hot soak in that swimming pool bathtub in her room. She planned to follow that up with a nice long sleep.
“Still cold?” he asked. They’d both spent most of the evening sloshing through water in the chilly basement.
“No, this is much better. I didn’t realize I was freezing until now.”
He reached over and took her hand. Her fingers felt numb. “Wear gloves tomorrow. You can’t work with frostbite.”
She noted that his hand was as cold as her own, but he held on to hers until it warmed up. When he finally released it, she felt a strange sense of loss.
He said, “I’ve got a question
.”
“And, it is?”
“I want to help with the center’s financial problems,” Myk said to her, “but I need your input.”
Sarita was a bit surprised.
He added, “I know what I said that morning about doing what I think is best, but I know now that you know better.”
Sarita was impressed. “It takes a big person to admit they were wrong.”
“So, can I help?”
“Whatever you can do, we’ll appreciate.”
When they entered the house, Drake and Walter were sitting in the den eating the largest subs Sarita had ever seen. Since she’d already eaten and wanted to take her bath, she waved good-bye to the men and left them alone. They all visually followed her exit, but one set of eyes lingered long after she’d disappeared.
Drake said, “You know, when this is all over, you’re going to have a hard time giving her up.”
Myk came out of his reverie. “No, I won’t.”
Walter chuckled. “Right. You’re half in love with the girl already.”
Myk took a seat and didn’t respond.
Drake said, “Gee’s right, and do you know how I know?”
“No,” his brother answered coolly. “How?”
“Because we had an appointment tonight at eight-thirty. It’s now after ten.”
Myk’s eyes widened, and he cursed. They were supposed to be meeting with some DEA agents. He’d totally forgotten.
“Not like you to be missing in action.”
Myk had to admit his brother was right. The scheduled meeting hadn’t even crossed his mind. “I got hung up over at Sarita’s center. Some pipes burst, and the basement flooded.”
Gee and Drake shared a look. Myk ignored them. “Did you reschedule?”
“Yes. Next week. Same time, same place.”
“Thanks.”
Drake said, “We were supposed to ride by those houses we took down over the weekend. You still want to go?”
“Yes.” Myk got to his feet, and asked, “Gee, will you stay and keep an eye on the lady?”
“No problem.”
The Edge of Midnight Page 20
