Return to Me

by Farrah Rochon

  “It’s definitely worth looking into,” Harrison said.

  “The more I think about it, the more I want to do it. The problem, of course, is that a project like this would require man-hours to both create and run it, and we all have packed calendars.”

  “Which brings me to the reason I stopped in here in the first place,” Harrison said as he shifted in the chair.

  His sobering tone gave Jonathan pause. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Everything has been on pause while we waited for the Delmonico’s Machinery acquisition to go through. Now that Bayou Dredging has agreed to cough up the money—”

  “Of which Campbell & Holmes will pocket a cool four million, thanks to you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Harrison acknowledged with a nod. “But now that we have this huge payday on the horizon, we have some decisions to make. For over a year we’ve talked about expanding, possibly opening up a second office on the Northshore. But I’m not willing to make that hour-long drive twice a day, several times a week. Not anymore. I made a promise to Willow—and honestly to myself—that I would spend less time at the office and more time with my family. And with the foundation now taking off—”

  “I understand,” Jonathan said, cutting him off. “I told you weeks ago that I’m good with you taking time off to be with your family. And you absolutely have to be there for the foundation, especially in these first few months. I can hold things down here at the office.”

  “But this won’t be temporary,” Harrison said. “My family will always be my top priority, and I don’t see my time commitment to the foundation lessening anytime soon. And as much as I believe you can handle the caseload a second office will bring, I’m not sure that’s the best thing for you, either.”

  Jonathan’s head reared back. “Come again?”

  “Look.” Harrison held both hands up. “You offered me some unsolicited advice not too long ago. I didn’t want to hear it at the time, but it’s what I needed to hear. Now it’s time I do the same for you. You can’t escape the crap in your life that you don’t want to deal with by drowning yourself in work. You can try, but it’ll eventually catch up with you.”

  Harrison’s words were like a rusty nail scoring an already sore patch of skin.

  “I’m not trying to escape anything,” Jonathan said. The lift to his partner’s brow called him on his bullshit, but Jonathan chose to ignore it. He’d worked too damn hard these past couple of days to put the crap he didn’t want to deal with—as Harrison put it—out of his head.

  “I’m good,” Jonathan emphasized. “You don’t have to worry about the practice.”

  “I’m not worried about the practice. You, on the other hand…”

  “You don’t have to worry about me either.” Jonathan leaned forward and rearranged the stack of From the desk of… notepads his sister had bought him as a gift. “That said, I’m actually starting to rethink my position on expanding.”

  The arch in Harrison’s brow became more pronounced.

  Jonathan nodded. “I still think we should bring in at least one additional associate, and hold a place for Nicolas when he’s done with school. I also think we need to bring in additional help for LaKeisha. She says she doesn’t need an assistant, but this is no longer the one man outfit it was when I first hired her.

  “As for myself, with this new club I’m planning to open, I’m going to be spread thin already.”

  “I hadn’t even considered that,” Harrison remarked.

  “I had,” Jonathan said. He picked up a letter opener, then dropped it back on the desk. “Instead of taking a portion of that Delmonico’s Machinery windfall and expanding to a second office on the Northshore, what do you think about doing more pro bono work with it?”

  Harrison pointed at him. “Now that’s something I can get behind. We could hire someone to fill that project manager role you talked about, but honestly, Jonathan, we can do so much more. This past year of trying to get the Diane Holmes Foundation off the ground has been one hell of an education,” Harrison said. “The paperwork regarding compliance and conflicts of interest alone would have cost several thousand in legal fees.

  “Our foundation is lucky to have an attorney in the family, but think about all the charities out there that have to spend that kind of money on lawyers instead of using it to help people.” He rubbed his hands together. “If we can do anything to alleviate that burden for some, I’m all in.”

  Harrison pushed up from his chair. “I need to get going. Athens joined the drama club at school and he wants me to come to their practice.”

  “I guess that sounds fun,” Jonathan said with a laugh.

  “A bunch of off-key middle schoolers singing show tunes? It’s my idea of hell, but it comes with the job of being a dad,” Harrison said. He stopped just outside the door. “I’m glad we’re on the same page with this pro bono idea. I’ve been thinking for a while now that we need to start giving back more.”

  His law partner’s excitement fueled his own. At one time Jonathan had earmarked a fifth of his billable hours to providing pro bono legal aid. Helping low-income families fight the city’s housing department, offering legal counseling to formerly incarcerated people reentering society. Whatever was needed. But then he’d stopped. Agreeing to mentor Nicolas was the first true act of giving back he’d performed in ages.

  When he thought back to the reason he’d allowed his philanthropic work to fall by the wayside, Jonathan could barely stomach the shame. He’d done it to spite Ivana. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t around to see it, just knowing how it would hurt her was enough for him. He’d wanted to eliminate anything from his life that reminded him of her. And if there was one thing his ex-fiancée had influenced in his life, it was his passion to help others.

  Before Ivana, he’d written checks to local charities, donated to toy drives, and sponsored a few families at the women’s shelter his sister ran back in Philly. But he’d done it more out of a sense of obligation—or, if he were being honest, out of feeling pressured. Ivana had taught him how to find true joy in serving his community. She’d brought out the very best in him.

  When she left, Jonathan had wanted nothing to do with that person she’d helped to create. He’d rejected everything she’d taught him.

  He didn’t like this person he’d become. He wanted to do better, to be better. He wanted to be the man he’d been when he was with Ivana.

  Bringing this new pro bono idea to fruition would be a solid first step to reclaiming the charitable spirit he’d once fostered. There were so many people like Javier Moreno, upstanding, hardworking people who had damn sure earned a right to legal citizenship in this country, but were still living in the shadows because of messed up immigration laws. Maybe implementing this project was one way he could get back to being that guy he once was.

  Ivana glanced up at the clock on the wall behind the register, shocked that only five minutes had passed since the last time she’d looked at it.

  She’d spent the past twenty minutes catering to the needs of the sunburned octogenarian who’d been meandering around her mother’s souvenir shop. Ivana wasn’t sure which would give the woman a hernia first, the overstuffed fanny pack around her waist or the collection of Mardi Gras beads hanging from her neck. She didn’t even want to think about how the woman had collected the beads, seeing as the holiday was still several months away.

  “What about these ceramic Mardi Gras masks? Are they hand-painted?”

  “I don’t think—” Ivana started to answer, but her mother cut her off.

  “Yes, they are hand-painted,” Sylvia said, joining them. “Ninety percent of the items sold here are made by hand. The quality is much better than what you’ll find in most of the shops here in the French Quarter.”

  “Oh, I can see that.” The woman lifted a figurine of a jazz quartet from the shelf. “You can tell the stuff in the other shops all come from China.”

  The bulk of the items Sylvia sold came f
rom Taiwan.

  Ivana left the customer in her mother’s very capable hands and returned to her spot behind the counter. She slid her Kindle from the cubby underneath the cash register and opened the new Beverly Jenkins she’d downloaded last night.

  Foot traffic had been brisk, something she hadn’t expected on a Tuesday afternoon. But then Sylvia explained that a huge medical conference was set to kickoff tomorrow at the Ernest N. Morial Convention Center and the deluge of customers finally made sense. The onslaught of souvenir-hunting conference-goers had descended upon them and hadn’t let up for hours.

  She’d agreed to fill in for the next week while her mother’s regular employee, Clarissa, vacationed in Sonoma on a wine-tasting trip with her friends. Despite preparing herself for the mental wear and tear she knew she’d suffer at the hands of Sylvia’s persnickety attitude when it came to her shop, Ivana had twice had to stop herself from walking out in a fit of frustration. It had only been two days, but she was ready to beg Clarissa to cut her trip short.

  The fact that she and her mother butted heads at every turn was bad enough, but that was nothing new. It was the pure nature of Sylvia’s business that had always turned Ivana’s stomach.

  She shouldn’t thumb her nose at her mother’s business. After their father died, leaving Sylvia to raise three daughters on her own, this tourist shop had kept a roof over their heads and put food in their bellies. Her mother had worked hard for this business, and deserved kudos for her effort, not condemnation.

  It just wasn’t Ivana’s cup of tea. Which is why she really needed Clarissa to get back here. Or maybe she could contact a temp agency. Was there a place that hired out temporary retail workers?

  Who do you think you are? Cinderella’s stepsisters?

  The words played back in her head like an old commercial from her childhood. It had been Sylvia’s favorite saying when any of her daughters complained about having to work in the shop when they were younger. None of them were too good to lend a hand.

  And it wasn’t as if a bunch of exciting activities populated her day planner. At least filling in at Sylvia’s Treasures gave her something to do with her time. She’d found herself climbing the walls after three weeks of getting the rest Patience strongly encouraged her to indulge in. She couldn’t handle too many more empty days filled with nothing but Netflix-bingeing.

  So what would she do when this short sabbatical was up?

  She had some time before deciding whether or not to return to Operation: Heal, but the significance of the choice she would have to eventually make weighed like an anchor in the back of Ivana’s mind. Whenever she even thought of going back, a sour sensation settled in the pit of her stomach.

  The guilt over her adverse reaction to returning to relief work threatened to suffocate her. She’d devoted so much of her life to helping others, but in the last few months it had become harder and harder to ignore a hard truth she’d spent decades trying to suppress.

  She used her relief work as a shield.

  She knew she’d been wrong when she left three years ago, but she’d convinced herself it was okay because she was performing noble work. In truth, she’d used her work as an excuse to run away from fears she was too cowardly to face.

  “You’re such a fraud,” Ivana whispered.

  The aid she’d provided to those in need over these past three years was laudable, there was no denying that. But she’d gotten something extremely beneficial in return. It had given her a way to assuage her guilt over breaking her promise to Jonathan. Now that there was zero chance for a reconciliation with her former fiancé, her choice of whether or not to return to Operation: Heal should be easy. But it wasn’t.

  Ivana had no earthly idea what she would do when Angus came back from California, expecting her to hop on a plane with him and return to Haiti. For the first time in years, she longed for the days when she had a plan for her life. She didn’t want to go back to being that person who was always the first at the office and the last to leave, but having a bit of direction right now would be nice.

  What was she thinking? Being that person for so many years had nearly killed her—literally. It wasn’t until she found herself in a hospital bed that Ivana finally accepted that she had to make a change in her life.

  That fateful hospital stay had been the start of this new life journey she’d been on for the past decade. While she lay in that hospital bed hooked up to monitors, a kindhearted nurse with a sweet, gentle smile had approached her. She’d told Ivana that she had felt a connection to her and was compelled to reach out. Then she’d told her about the work her fellow sisters of the voodoo religion did for the people of New Orleans.

  It was the day her life had irrevocably changed.

  She’d given up her corporate job and made the decision to devote her life to taking care of others. But it had come at the expense of taking care of herself. The stress of always putting others ahead of herself had taken its toll and led to a level of burnout Ivana wasn’t certain she would be able to recover from before it was time to return to Haiti.

  She’d visited several of her sisters who still belonged to the cause in these few weeks since she’d return to New Orleans, but warned them that she wouldn’t be able to jump back into working with them. They’d understood, of course, and had reassured her that, when she was ready, they would be happy to have her join them in whatever capacity she was able to provide.

  Knowing they were so eager to welcome her back into the fold brought such comfort, but Ivana knew she wasn’t ready. She wasn’t sure if she would ever be ready. But if she didn’t go back to Haiti, and she wasn’t going to rejoin her voodoo sisters, just what was she going to do with her life?

  The question loomed over her like an uncomfortable cloud. The sense of being directionless, of being so unsure of her immediate future, was beyond unsettling. She had some hard, important decisions to make, and the time to make them would be here much sooner than she wanted it to come.

  After seeing the tourists out the door, her mother came to stand next to her behind the counter.

  “I know it’s been a while since you’ve done this. Do I need to give you a crash course on how to sell?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “When that woman asked if that Mardi Gras mask was hand-painted, you were going to tell her no, weren’t you?” Sylvia asked, the words soaked in accusation.

  “I was going to tell her that I didn’t think it was hand-painted, because I didn’t think it was.”

  “The answer is yes, Ivana. It doesn’t matter what the customer asks. If it isn’t safety-related, the answer is always yes.”

  “How long have you known me?” she asked her mother. “You know I don’t lie.”

  “It’s not lying, it’s selling. If you’re going to work here while you’re in town, then you need to get off that high horse of yours and get with the program.”

  That sealed it. She would search for Clarrisa’s phone number and beg her to come back. It was bad enough she still had more than a week before she would be able to move into her Granny Elise’s old house. If she had to spend all day with her mother too, Ivana wasn’t sure they would survive it.

  Maybe she should look at the bright side. If she and Sylvia killed each other in a murderous rage, at least she wouldn’t have to face that hard decision looming ahead.

  For the third time in the last three minutes, Jonathan fought the urge to summon an Uber to drive him back to his office. It was only a ten minute walk, but the weather had been a lot nicer when he’d left his law office earlier today. The breeze that blew off the Mississippi River no longer existed, and the morning chill had been replaced with the sticky humidity that tended to hang around New Orleans no matter the time of the year. He’d lived here over a decade, but Jonathan doubted his West Philadelphia born and raised blood would ever get used to this city’s weather.

  He turned the corner at Royal Street and nearly tripped on the cobblestone sidewalk, his attenti
on misdirected by the sign for Sylvia’s Treasures hanging from two chains perpendicular to the entrance of Ivana’s mother’s French Quarter shop. Even though it was only a few minutes from his law practice, Jonathan had purposely steered clear of this route over the years. Whenever he was forced to take it, he averted his eyes so that he wouldn’t see the turquoise sign and be reminded of Ivana. He’d become so adept at avoiding this area that he didn’t even have to think about it.

  So how had he found himself here today?

  It’s because he’d been distracted thinking about his meeting with the executives from clean energy powerhouse, Solar Bright. That had to be it. He refused to entertain the notion that it had anything to do with Ivana being back in town.

  For one thing, Jonathan knew there was no way in hell she’d be anywhere near her mother’s gift shop. Ivana’s contentious relationship with Sylvia Culpepper wasn’t a secret to anyone who knew the family. She would always say it didn’t bother her, but Jonathan could tell that, if given the chance, Ivana would have done just about anything to have a loving, normal mother/daughter relationship with Sylvia.

  It had always been his hope to one day help facilitate that, since his one-time future mother-in-law had taken an instant liking to him. But then Jonathan realized just how messed up it was that Sylvia had seemed to like him more than she liked her own daughter.

  She’d come to him a week after Ivana left, the day after their scheduled nuptials, and prattled on about how much of a disappointment her flighty daughter had always been and how he’d dodged a bullet by not marrying her. Jonathan had ordered her off his property. On the rare occasion when they encountered each other—usually at family gatherings hosted by Toby and Sienna—they were cordial at best.

  Jonathan kept his face forward as he walked passed the shop, but a broad swath of colorful fabric caught his eye. He looked to his left and found himself face-to-face with Ivana, the spotless window the only thing separating them. Her eyes grew wide and her mouth fell open as she stared at him. The bold print of the multicolored scarf tied around her head and hanging along the left side of her body made her luscious brown eyes even more luminous. There was something compelling in those eyes. They urged him to do something he never thought he’d do in a million years.