Second Time Sweeter

by Beverly Jenkins

  Trent shook his head. “My knees are shot. More fun watching her.”

  Gary agreed because watching Lily evoked memories of the fun they’d all had at the meets. “Back in the day, did you think we’d be here?”

  “No. I expected to marry Lily. You’d marry Nori. We’d move to the big city and live happily ever after.”

  “So much for that.”

  “True. I did marry Fontaine eventually, though.”

  “Nori and I didn’t make it.”

  Trent asked quietly, “Still have her in your heart?”

  Gary knew he could tell Trent the truth. They’d been close as brothers forever. “I do, or at least the fantasy of what could have been.” He’d probably go to his grave still wondering.

  “She’ll be here this weekend. She isn’t married. Maybe something will happen. You never know.”

  Gary wasn’t optimistic. Other than his girls, life hadn’t dealt him much happiness. “Not betting the farm.”

  “That’s okay but keep hope alive,” Trent said in a bad imitation of Jesse Jackson’s voice.

  Gary grinned. “I need to get going.”

  The sun had come up. A few cars passed by on the way to, he assumed, the Dog for breakfast. Henry Adams was beginning a new day. He wished the Millers’ shop was open. A tall cup of hot coffee would taste good, and maybe resurrect his stiff leg muscles. He wondered how the couple was doing. Lily had finished her run. She was bent over catching her breath and checking her pulse.

  “Thanks for the help today, Lil.” Gary struggled to his feet and was trying to gather the strength in his legs to make it to his car when Gemma pulled up in her old Taurus. She got out and walked over.

  “Hey,” he said, taking a few steps in her direction while trying to pretend his legs weren’t making him move like he was a hundred years old.

  “Hey back. You feel as bad as you look?”

  Trent coughed to hide his laugh.

  Gary ignored him. “I’m fine, Gem.”

  “You’re moving like somebody in leg irons.”

  “My first day running. It’s normal. I’m going to grab my gear from the car and then shower. I’ll be at the store by eight thirty.”

  Lily asked skeptically, “Eight thirty today or tomorrow?”

  “Quiet, Fontaine.”

  Gemma asked, “When was the last time you took a day off?”

  “I’m not missing work. I’ll be fine. Besides, I’m taking vacation Friday, remember.”

  Trent said to him, “You know you’re going to lose, don’t you?”

  “Nobody asked you, July.”

  Trent, still smiling, crossed his arms and waited.

  Gary said, “Ladies, I’m a grown man. I know what I’m capable of handling.”

  Gemma said gently, “Grown man or not, you can barely walk. The store will still be there tomorrow. I’m sure the place won’t go to hell if I run it for one day without you.”

  She was right, of course. She was an excellent assistant manager, and if asked, the staff would go through a wall for her. But he wasn’t the type to call off work. It wasn’t in him.

  “Gary,” Lily said. “Go home, take a nice long soak, then get some breakfast and spend the day chilling and relaxing. Watch some movies, read a book. Listen to some music. When was the last time you did any of those things?”

  Admittedly, not since marrying Colleen his senior year of high school. The reality of that was like a punch in the gut. Would it kill him to have a day to himself?

  Trent said, “Man, take the day off. Go do what every guy can’t do once he has a wife and kids—walk around in your underwear.”

  The ladies turned to Trent with such astonishment that Gary laughed loud and long. “That seals it, Trent. Thanks!”

  Lily and Gemma continued to stare.

  “You’re welcome. Now get going. I’ll stay and help Lily and Gem pick their jaws up off the ground.”

  Gary was still chuckling when he pulled his car into the garage. Hobbling inside, he stopped, noting how quiet and peaceful the surroundings were. Low light flowed in from the partially drawn drapes and he realized he’d never seen his home this way before.

  He managed to climb the stairs and make it into his bathroom. He then treated himself to a long hot shower and basked in the spray until the water ran cold.

  Downstairs again, and feeling much better, he decided it was time for breakfast. He wasn’t the best cook, but he managed bacon and eggs without burning anything. Grabbing a TV tray, he set it in front of the flat screen and placed his plate and glass of juice on top. After using the remote to fire up the TV, he searched the movies until he found what he wanted. Black Panther. Faced with no worries, Gary Clark, in his underwear, smiled and settled in for his very first daylong home-alone.

  Mal sat eating breakfast in his apartment, debating whether to contact the sheriff about Ruth’s threat. Of course, she might have been joking and nothing would come of it, but something told him she’d been serious. Will Dalton would probably tell him there was nothing law enforcement could do unless the threat was carried out, which meant Mal might be on his way to the hospital by then. He ran his hands down his eyes. His life was spiraling out of control, making him so dizzy he couldn’t see straight.

  There was a knock on the door. He went to answer it and found Marie Jefferson, cat-eye glasses and all, standing on the other side. She didn’t appear happy. “So, you’re back,” she said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Can I come in?”

  Assuming he was in for more lecturing, he wanted to tell her, No, go home! Instead, he stepped back, and she entered.

  She looked around the neatly kept space with its artwork on the walls. “Trent said you got laid off and applied for the custodian job. It’s yours. You can start as soon as the FBI is done with the building.”

  “Thank you, Marie.”

  “You can’t pay back the money standing in line at the unemployment office.”

  Mal thought if he had a dime for every time someone said something along those lines, he’d be able to clear the debt and move to Maui. “How was Alaska?”

  “Breathtaking. How are you and Bernadine?”

  “All the king’s horses and all the king’s men, blah blah blah,” he recited.

  Marie folded her arms and sighed. For a few moments she didn’t say anything, just eyed him with disapproval and disappointment. “And you’re going to fix it, how?”

  He snapped, “I can’t fix it if she doesn’t want it fixed, Marie. And don’t tell me it’s all my fault because I already know that.”

  “At least you’re admitting it.”

  “Doesn’t seem to make a difference. Everybody is still pissed off. Trent. Lily. Even Amari. Only person not rubbing my nose in it is Clay.”

  “Last spring, when I lost my mind, what did you tell me to do?”

  He sighed aloud. “This is not the same thing.”

  “If I remember, I pissed off a lot of people, too. Wouldn’t even open the door for you.”

  After a heated altercation with Trent’s mother, Rita Lynn, Marie dug a hole for herself and jumped in. She’d wallowed and wailed so long that Genevieve, her best friend and then housemate, threatened to move out.

  Marie continued, “Part of what you told me was to apologize to everyone I’d hurt.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “It was sort of like the twelve-step program you used for your alcohol issue.”

  Mal tossed out, “Little Mr. Round Head is telling everyone I should paint the fence.”

  She chuckled. “I take it you’re meaning Devon. I kind of like that idea.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Okay. Suit yourself. Are you still seeing Ruth?”

  “No. She was here a few days ago rubbing my nose in things, too. Apparently, her brother’s a former boxer and wants a piece of my hide.”

  “Could be worse. He could want pieces of your manly parts.”

  He thought back on Rocky say
ing she wanted to buy tickets to the fight. “Why do people think this is funny?”

  “I don’t, but I do think you need to start your Come to Jesus twelve-step program and put your life back together.”

  “Thank you,” he said sarcastically. “And thanks again for the job.”

  “You’re welcome,” she replied in a similar tone. “I’ll let myself out.”

  At her exit, Mal shot an irritated look at the now closed door. He was sick of people telling him what to do. As the old folks used to say: the only thing he had to do was stay black and die. And get Bernadine back. He ignored that inner voice.

  Although it had only been a few days since Sandy Langster took on their case, he wondered if she’d found anything. According to Clay, she’d met up with his cousin Jimmy to learn what he knew about David Dresden’s relatives and habits. Did he gamble, cheat on his wife, have a passport? Mal supposed it was a reasonable way to start sniffing out a trail, but he wanted the man and the money found yesterday. There’d be issues reclaiming his portion, but he’d cross that bridge when he got to it.

  Now that Marie had okayed him for the job, he was no longer in financial limbo. The sooner the FBI turned the building loose the sooner he could start earning a paycheck. According to the rumors, the feds were looking for stashed weapons, so he didn’t mind if they took their time. Like everyone else, he wondered how the Millers were doing. Had Sam survived? Convinced that the coffee shop the Millers had set up would negatively affect the Dog’s bottom line, Mal had been against its opening, but he hadn’t wanted them harmed. Never in a million years would he have imagined Henry Adams being embroiled in something like this. From what he’d seen at the Saturday meeting, Bernadine seemed to be handling things, though. He could tell she wasn’t happy with the government for setting the whole thing in motion. She didn’t like being blindsided and he didn’t blame her. Even though he’d done that to her as well. Deciding not to think about that, he went into the closet and got his kites. Since his return last week, he hadn’t talked to Tamar about the embezzling, but it was time to get that out of the way. Watching his dragon kite dance on the wind had always calmed his spirit, and he’d probably need calming after Tamar finished giving him the tongue-lashing he knew he deserved.

  As he drove up July Road to the house where he’d been born, having to face his mother, even at his age, made him feel like a child again. Clay told him she’d opened fire on him with her legendary shotgun to get the truth about where Mal had disappeared after the theft. Scared him so bad, he said he screamed like a little kid coming face-to-face with Godzilla. The Julys may have descended from train robbers, but Tamar always set high standards of conduct for him and Trent, a concept passed down and embraced when the family stopped breaking the law.

  When he reached her place, he drove through the open gates and up the winding dirt road to the house. Turning off the ignition, he got out. When she stepped through the door onto the porch, he expected a snarky welcome. Instead, she said simply, “I’ve been expecting you. Come in.”

  He climbed the steps and followed her inside.

  The house had been in the family for generations and, thanks to Bernadine’s generosity, had been given a major makeover. Air conditioning had been installed, rooms expanded, plumbing upgraded. A state-of-the-art furnace replaced the old wood-fed boiler, and the appliances in the kitchen were sleek and modern enough to be the set for their own TV show. He took a seat at the kitchen table.

  “There’s coffee if you want some,” she told him.

  He went over to the carafe, poured the piping-hot brew into a mug, and retook his seat.

  “I need to apologize,” she said.

  He paused. Eyeing over his raised mug, he asked warily, “For?”

  “Calling you out like I did at the meeting on Thursday.”

  “No big deal. But you might want to apologize to Clay for shooting at him.”

  “Clay should be glad I shot at his feet and not higher. He knows better than to lie to me.”

  Having raised her temper, he thought it best to leave it be. If Clay wanted an apology, he was on his own.

  She asked, “So outside of paying back the money, how do you plan to atone for what you did, Malachi?”

  Her tone brought his eyes to hers, and the hurt they displayed was startling. Shame grabbed him. “I don’t know,” he replied quietly. He’d been expecting rage and fury, not this show of raw pain. He couldn’t remember his mother exuding such anguish before, not even when he’d been drinking. The force of that knowledge hit him harder than rage and fury ever could. His stupid pride had reduced his warrior mother to revealing an inner vulnerability he never knew she had. “I’m so very sorry.” And he meant it. His apology was the most genuine one he’d given to anyone so far. He knew his embezzlement had crossed a line, but not how deeply it cut into the heart and souls of those who cared about him. He’d convinced himself that a simple “I’m sorry, please forgive me” was all he needed to put himself back into their good graces. Now he began to understand the need to do more—the need to atone. He couldn’t sweep his actions under the rug and go on his merry way.

  Tamar was watching him.

  “Never meant to hurt you like this.”

  “I know.”

  “Never meant to hurt anybody, but being with Bernadine in Key West hurt me. Bad. Not being a man, you wouldn’t understand that.”

  “No, I wouldn’t.” And her icy tone let him know the dynamics had changed.

  “I’m just trying to be honest here, Tamar.”

  “And I appreciate that, but you don’t seem to see the flaw in your justification.”

  “I saw myself sitting on the sideline while she paid for everything from drinks to suntan lotion, and people around us thinking I was a gigolo.”

  “What other people think of you is none of your business, Mal. Who cares what they think.”

  “I cared!”

  “So you came home and stole a bunch of money, and what do people here think of you now? Do you care about them?”

  He snarled inwardly.

  “And there’s your flaw. You cared more about the opinions of a bunch of strangers you’ll never see again so that down the road you could pretend to be someone you aren’t?”

  “I should be the one taking care of her.”

  “Bernadine can take care of herself. That isn’t why you’re in her life. She wanted you for you, Mal. Not for what you have or don’t have in the bank. And I get the man thing. It’s another flawed theory, but I get it. The question remains: How are you going to atone for what you did?”

  He pushed back from the table and stood. “I’m too old for this.”

  “So am I. You’re my son and I love you, but you’re going to have to answer that question sooner or later.”

  He placed his nearly full coffee mug in the sink and left.

  Instead of going home, he drove down to the creek on Tamar’s land and took out his long-tailed Chinese dragon kite. He knew she could see him from the kitchen window, but he didn’t care. Earlier, on the drive from town, he’d been disappointed by the lack of a breeze. Now the wind was blowing briskly. Looking upon that as a gift, he walked the kite across the flat land until it caught the current. He fed it string until it climbed, twisting and bobbing high in the air. He chose to concentrate on it and not his mother’s question about atoning.

  Chapter 10

  Amari decided he liked having school at Mr. James’s place. One, he only had to walk across the street to get there, and two, the atmosphere was laid-back. The students were sprawled out on couches and chairs, and seated on the floor, with their laptops, while Mr. James guided them through a lesson on the Constitution. Mr. Abbott and the younger kids like Zoey, Devon, and their crew were in the basement. Mr. James said he initially thought about having school in the rec, but it, too, was a crime scene, and the FBI weren’t done doing whatever they were doing. Amari was still blown away by what happened Friday night. A hit woman? In Henry Ada
ms? There’d never been anything that crazy since they all moved there. He’d asked his mom how Mr. Miller was doing, but she said the FBI wouldn’t be releasing any information, and that people in town would probably never know. He understood the reasonings behind this decision, but he still wanted to know if he pulled through.

  At lunch, everybody gathered outside. The big kids got the porch. The young ones took the steps. Amari noted the dark circles beneath Zoey’s eyes and recalled that she’d been real quiet all day. As she opened her lunch bag, he asked, “Zo, you okay?”

  She didn’t respond at first and took her sandwich out of her green bag. She finally looked at him. “Had a stupid nightmare last night.”

  Concern filled her friends’ faces.

  Brain asked gently, “You want to talk about it?”

  She gave a quick shake of her head. “No. I’m good.”

  Leah said, “Maybe talk to the rev. You look really tired.”

  “I am. I couldn’t get back to sleep.”

  Lucas asked, “Did you dream about Ms. Stockton?”

  She met his eyes and, after a long pause, nodded yes. Amari thought they’d keep Lucas around.

  “You should talk to Reverend Paula,” Leah said quietly.

  A tear slid down Zoey’s cheek and she angrily wiped it away. “I’m such a damn baby! Jeez.”

  A chorus of denials went up.

  Amari asked, “Have you talked to your mom or dad?”

  “No. Mom’s recording her new CD and Dad is trying to get all the stuff moved into his office. It was just a stupid dream. I’ll be okay. Can we move on, please?”

  Amari shared a look with Brain.

  Devon said, “Okay, but if the dream comes back tonight, tell your mom.”

  She nodded.

  Amari was proud of Devon for offering a good piece of advice. Maybe there was hope for him after all. As Zoey suggested, they moved on, but for the rest of the lunch period, the atmosphere was quiet and subdued.