Never Let Me Go

by Kianna Alexander

  “I expect nothing less.” Mrs. Cross returned to her seat. “Will you be able to start tomorrow?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be here bright and early.”

  “Seven a.m., sharp. We’re a busy firm, and I expect you’ll be matched to a family within the first week.” Mrs. Cross smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Yes, definitely. Thank you again.” Yvonne gathered her things and hurried out of the office.

  She slipped into her wool peacoat as she walked down the plush carpeted hallway toward the reception area. She stopped a moment by the chintz sofa in the lobby to pull on her hat and gloves, then stepped outside. The frigid, gray day made her long for the warmth and sunshine of spring.

  Downtown Durham buzzed with activity, as was typical of a weekday in the area. Driving past the shops and restaurants, Yvonne thought back on the city she remembered from her youth. It was very different from what she saw before her. The old abandoned tobacco warehouses left behind by the cigarette manufacturers of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries had been converted into upscale apartments. New restaurants and businesses were popping up everywhere, and the city had even demolished the old Heart of Durham hotel several years back to build a new transportation hub for the city’s residents. Yvonne loved knowing that the city was experiencing so much growth, but she wondered what had happened to the folks who’d once lived in the area, who were largely poor and middle-class people of color. She could only assume that the higher rents on the newer, fancier properties in the area had pushed many of them out.

  Yvonne pulled her compact sedan into the driveway at her parents’ home a few minutes later. Their small, one-story brick house sat on a hilly road in the Old North Durham neighborhood. She and her sister, Zelda, had grown up in a different house, farther out of the city, but this was the home their parents had downsized to soon after Zelda’s high school graduation.

  A few minutes later, Yvonne used her key to enter the house. Shutting the door behind her, she stilled for a moment to listen for clues to her parents’ whereabouts. She could hear the television playing in the bedroom near the back of the house, so she assumed her parents were back there. Crossing the living room, she went down the hall toward the bedroom.

  As she passed the kitchen, her mother, Marissa, called out to her. “Hey, Von. Come here for a minute, baby.”

  Turning right into the kitchen, Yvonne sidled up to her mother, who sat at the table with an open magazine and a cup of tea. Leaning down, she threw her arms around her mother’s shoulders. “Hey, Mommy. How are you feeling today?”

  “Not too bad.” Marissa smiled up at her daughter. “How’d the interview go?”

  Yvonne pulled out the chair next to her mother and sat down, wearing a broad grin. “It went great. I got the job, and I start tomorrow.”

  Marissa clapped her hands together. “Wonderful, wonderful. I was a little worried when you left the center, but I’m sure you’ll do great at this job.”

  “I really do have a good feeling about this position, Mommy.” Yvonne was hoping this position would be her last one where she worked for someone else. “If I can get one or two wealthy clients, I should be able to save up for my childcare center a lot faster.”

  “Just so long as you don’t forget about Daddy and me.” Marissa lifted the mug of tea to her lips, taking a slow sip.

  Yvonne felt her grin fade. “Of course not, Mommy. I’m always going to make sure you’re taken care of. Don’t worry, okay?” She’d been supporting her parents ever since she graduated from college, and she wasn’t about to stop now. It was the least she could do, to repay them for all the years of sweat and hard work they’d put in to raise her and Zelda.

  Setting the mug down again, Marissa sighed. “I wish we didn’t have to lean on you girls so much. But with our health being the way it is…” She didn’t finish.

  Yvonne took her mother’s hand in her own. “Mommy, don’t worry about it, okay? You and Daddy put in a good thirty years of work already. Zelda and I love you, and it’s our honor to take care of you.” Her parents both suffered from a host of health conditions that prevented them from working.

  “I love you too, baby.” Marissa squeezed her daughter’s hand. “You know how we are, though. Even though we’re both past sixty, your daddy and I would have kept right on working if we could.”

  “I know.” Yvonne had never known anyone with a stronger work ethic than her parents. She could remember times during her childhood when they’d both worked two, even three jobs to make sure she and Zelda had everything they needed. There hadn’t been a lot of extras—very few meals out, no long family vacations to exotic destinations. Still, Yvonne and her sister had never gone hungry or lacked for love.

  Yvonne released her mother’s hand. “Daddy’s in the back, I’m guessing.”

  Marissa nodded. “Yep. Caught up in a marathon of Gilligan’s Island. You know how he loves that silly old show.”

  With a chuckle, Yvonne stood. “I’m gonna go check on him, then I’ll be back to help you fix something for dinner, okay?”

  “Thank you, baby.” Marissa made eye contact with her daughter for a long, quiet moment. “For everything.”

  Blowing her mother a kiss, Yvonne slipped out of the kitchen. A moment later, she stuck her head around the frame of the bedroom door. Her father, Gordon, sat in the old brown recliner next to the bed, eyes glued to the television. “Hey, Daddy!”

  His gaze shifted her way, and he smiled. “Hey, sweetheart. Came to watch Gilligan with me?”

  She shook her head. “No, not today. I’m gonna help Mommy with dinner. I just wanted to check on you.” She kept her eyes on his face, knowing how he hated it when people stared at his prosthetic. Diabetes had taken his lower left leg several years ago.

  He grinned. “That’s my girl. Always looking out for me.”

  She entered the room then. The curtains were drawn, as they always were when he watched his shows, leaving the room dim despite the sun’s attempts to break through the clouds. Standing next to his chair, she touched his shoulder. “How are you feeling? Do you need anything?”

  “I’m feeling okay today, darling. Just a little tired.” He stifled a yawn. “Could use a cold drink, though.”

  “I’ll be right back.” Yvonne quickly went to the kitchen, returning with a glass of ice water with a lemon wedge.

  Gordon frowned as he took the glass. “I was hoping for a diet soda or some juice.”

  Careful to keep her tone respectful, she said, “Daddy, you know you have to watch your sugar intake.”

  He sighed. “Yes, yes. I know.”

  She wanted him to be happy. But more than that, she wanted him to be healthy. While he sometimes railed against the changes he’d had to make in his life since he’d lost his foot, the whole family was behind him. She, Zelda, and their mother did what they could to make the transition smooth for him. When all was said and done, Yvonne knew her father’s happiness would come once he accepted things as they were and committed himself to doing what was best for his health.

  She leaned down, kissed him on the cheek. “Love you, Daddy.”

  His smile returned then. “I love you, too.”

  Leaving him to his drink and his show, she slipped from the room.

  Back in the kitchen, she found her mother seated at the table, peeling sweet potatoes. “Did he fuss about the water?”

  Yvonne nodded. “A little. But he knows I’m not bringing him anything sweet.”

  With a shake of her head, Marissa kept up her peeling. “Your daddy’s stubborn. Always has been. But he’ll come around.” A soft smile touched her face as she spoke of her husband. “Thirty-six years with him has certainly been an adventure.”

  Yvonne reflected on her mother’s words. Her parents’ love and dedication to each other and to her and Zelda were the model for the life she h
oped to share with a special man one day. No matter what life threw at them, Marissa and Gordon Markham always had each other’s backs. One of the things she loved most about their relationship was the sense of balance. Her mother, while handling a lot of domestic responsibility, never shrank herself to suit her husband. And her father was a strong man, yet he’d never shied away from displaying his emotions.

  Do they even make men like Daddy anymore? I’m not getting any younger, so if such a man exists, I wish he’d make himself known.

  Her mother’s voice cut into her thoughts. “Now wash your hands, baby, and help me cut up these potatoes.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Yvonne went to the sink to wash up, pushing aside her fantasies of a tall, dark, and honorable mate in favor of assisting her mother.

  Chapter 2

  Maxwell strolled through the main lobby of Devers Architectural early Monday, mindful of the potential client walking behind him. He walked at an even pace, his dress loafers making a muffled sound with each impact against the polished dark wood floors. Mary Alice, the receptionist, greeted them as they passed the wood-paneled, curved desk centering the space. Behind the desk, an angled accent wall, made of flat paving stones, provided the focal point for the space. Every time he entered the building, he took a few moments to admire the reception area, which he’d designed himself. He loved the feeling of the space; it was both professional and welcoming. At least he thought so, and he hoped his clients agreed.

  Once he reached the end of the hall, he gestured to the open door of his office. “After you, Mrs. Dartmouth.”

  The petite lady in the navy suit nodded primly to him as she passed him. He followed her inside, keeping a respectable distance between them. In the outer office, they passed the desk of his assistant, who barely looked up from the computer screen as they exchanged greetings. Maxwell didn’t mind, because he valued efficiency in his staff over most other qualities.

  Inside his private office, Maxwell closed the door before he assisted his visitor into her chair. Soon he and Mrs. Dartmouth were seated on opposite sides of his steel and glass desk. The desk, custom made to Maxwell’s specifications, had a top shaped like a crescent moon. His executive chair slid right into the inner curve. Resting his hands on the glass desktop, he looked in her direction. “So, Mrs. Dartmouth. I’d love to hear more about your vision for your summer home.”

  She smiled, her ice-blue eyes twinkling. For the next ten minutes, she spoke of the retreat she dreamed of. Her ideas were grand and varied, revealing how much thought she’d put into the project.

  While she spoke, Maxwell did his best to be attentive.

  Finally, she paused. “Look at me, rambling on. You’re the designer, and here I am telling you what to do.”

  Maxwell gave her an easy smile. “It’s not a problem. After all, this will be your oasis, not mine.”

  “It will be so divine when it’s done. That stretch of land I own on the lake will be the perfect respite from all the noise and activity of the city.”

  “It sounds wonderful. And I truly enjoy creating designs for vacation homes, especially when my client is as imaginative as you.”

  She chuckled. “My generous budget probably doesn’t hurt, either.”

  “No, ma’am. It doesn’t hurt at all.” Maxwell had been eager to take a meeting with Minerva Dartmouth ever since she’d called him the previous week. Her high six-figure spending limit for the lake house meant he could get very creative with the design, on a level he rarely got the chance to do when designing a private residence.

  “Have you designed many vacation homes in the past, Mr. Devers?” Mrs. Dartmouth fixed him with a searching look as she posed the question.

  “Call me Maxwell. And yes, ma’am, I’ve completed several properties of this kind.” He slid his chair back, swiveled to open the top drawer of the storage cabinet behind his desk. “Let me show you a few of them.” He extracted his hardback, full-color portfolio, then slid it across the desktop to her.

  She opened the portfolio and had only flipped a few pages when the intercom went off.

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Dartmouth.” Annoyed, Maxwell lifted the receiver of his desk phone. “Carson, I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed while I was in this meeting.”

  Carson Lightner, his young and often overwrought assistant, spoke fast, his words coming out in a jumble. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Devers, but this can’t wait.”

  “Is something on fire?” Maxwell struggled to keep his tone even, mindful of Mrs. Dartmouth.

  “Not literally, but there may be something on fire figuratively…”

  Maxwell rolled his eyes. “Carson, this is no time to be speaking in riddles. Just say what you mean.”

  The next voice that spoke over the intercom was Sasha’s aunt Bianca. “Maxwell, we’re coming in.”

  Maxwell’s brow furrowed, only for a moment, before he realized something might be amiss with Sasha. “Show her in, Carson.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Maxwell sighed. The sooner he knew what had brought Bianca to his office in the middle of the workday, the better. “Pardon the interruption, Mrs. Dartmouth.”

  She waved him off. “I’m retired. I’ve got plenty of time, Maxwell.”

  A few moments later, Bianca flung the door open and strode in. She was dressed in dark denim jeans with a matching jacket, her raven hair swept into a low ponytail. The pink butterfly-print bag that held the baby’s belongings was tossed over her left shoulder. Sasha, tucked into her car seat, reached for Maxwell the moment she saw him.

  He walked over to meet them, gathering his daughter in his arms. “Hi, sweetheart.” Kissing her soft brow, he turned to the woman who’d almost been his sister-in-law. Now that he stood closer to her, he noticed the pale, drawn expression on her face. “Bianca, what’s going on?”

  “It’s Mama.” She swallowed. “She’s had a stroke.”

  He frowned. “Oh no. Is she all right?”

  “I don’t know. The ambulance took her from the house. I need to leave Sasha with you so I can meet her at the hospital.” She wrung her hands. “I’ve never seen Mama look so worn out.”

  He could feel the stress rolling off of her. “I understand. Go on ahead, and please, let me know about Ines’s condition as soon as you can, okay?”

  She nodded, her eyes watery. “I will. And just so you’ll know…if it’s as serious as they think, you might be getting Sasha full time…at least until Juliana gets back from deployment.” That said, she handed him the baby’s bag and left.

  Standing in the middle of his office with his babbling baby girl and her various necessities, he turned back to Mrs. Dartmouth, who’d watched the whole exchange in intrigued silence. “I’m so sorry about that. This was totally unexpected.”

  She smiled. “Goodness, don’t apologize. What father worth his salt wouldn’t take care of his child when there’s an emergency?” She shifted in her seat as if to get a better view. “Bring that precious little cherub here.”

  He paused to take the baby out of her seat. He moved toward his desk, bouncing Sasha against his shoulder as he walked. “Sasha, can you say hi to Mrs. Dartmouth?”

  Sasha made a little snorting sound, then focused her big brown eyes on the older woman. After staring for a few seconds, she raised her little hand and gave a backward wave.

  “Oh.” Mrs. Dartmouth’s smile widened. “What a precious little dear. May I hold her?”

  He felt his brow hitch. “If you’d like.” He gently placed his daughter in her lap, then returned to his seat, placing the diaper bag on the floor beneath his desk.

  “Don’t look so nervous, Maxwell. I’ve got eight grandchildren, so I’m an old vet when it comes to little ones.” She bounced Sasha on her knee, much to the baby’s delight. “Go ahead and slide me your portfolio.”

  He did as she asked. While she perused the portfolio, he
did his best to appear calm and collected. He sat back in his chair, looking at the open pages as she viewed them. Now and again, his eyes would stray to his daughter. The muscles in his neck and shoulders tensed, and he could feel the knots forming. She seemed content for now, gnawing on the liquid-filled teething ring attached to her onesie. But who knew how long that would last? One thing parenting had taught him was that babies were full of surprises.

  Mrs. Dartmouth’s eyes left the pages of the portfolio, and she turned her head to look at him. Her gaze indicated that she’d sensed the tension rolling off him. “Are you feeling unwell, Maxwell?”

  By now, Maxwell could feel the beads of sweat that had begun to form around his temples. “I’m fine, Mrs. Dartmouth.”

  She continued to watch him, looking unconvinced of his words.

  To direct the conversation away from his conundrum and back to the matter at hand, he asked, “Do you see a style of home you like in the portfolio?”

  Still looking skeptical, Mrs. Dartmouth pointed to the image on page fifteen. “I think I’d like something like that. Although I’d want a different color for the siding and a stone accent facade around the front door.”

  Relieved that she’d taken the hint, Maxwell shifted his gaze to the image. “Ah, yes. That’s my Merriweather design. With a few modifications to the base plan, I think it will fit well with your needs and desires.”

  She smiled. “Wonderful. When can we begin the process?”

  Sasha smiled a drooling smile.

  Mrs. Dartmouth held Sasha against her shoulder for a few moments. By the time he got ready to take her back, he noticed the damp spot of drool on the shoulder of Mrs. Dartmouth’s jacket.

  He cringed, already fishing in the diaper bag for a burp cloth. “Oh no. I’m so sorry.” Standing, he came around to her side of the desk and handed her one cloth to clean herself with. Spreading the other cloth over the shoulder of his own jacket, he picked Sasha up and snuggled her close. “Sorry about that—she’s teething.”