by Pat Simmons
The saving grace was Rainey. Although, they had hung out together, she called him from time to time and spoke briefly. Her bitterness was fading, yet she wanted more. During one of her lunches with Parke, in addition to blessing their food, he asked God to bless her. Maybe God was starting to. What was that scripture she thought of when she first moved back home? With urgency, she wanted to read it. Maybe for once, Imani wasn’t joking about sending her a Bible. Cheney didn’t own one and didn’t know how to go about choosing one. She thought about Mrs. Beacon. She was almost certain her neighbor wouldn’t look at one if it were dropped on her doorstep like a Yellow Pages Book.
Going to her computer, Cheney signed on, and Googled Revelation 3:17-18.
Chapter Sixteen
On a lazy Sunday afternoon, Parke coerced Cheney to walk with him to the Whistle Stop for her favorite weakness—a frozen custard.
“I can’t believe how everything is turning out for us.” Parke kicked at a pebble.
“What do you mean us? Parke, the earth revolves in space, not around you. The only us is us walking to get this dessert.”
“I see you’re in denial,” Parke half-joked. Brick walls could be knocked down, but he could only chip away at Cheney’s cement exterior one piece at a time. He sensed her withdrawal, so he changed the subject. “I like your hair down. It suits you. Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”
Cheney burst into laughter, elbowing him in the side. “Am I supposed to return the compliment, or can I keep it?”
That wasn’t the reaction Parke for hoping for. He stopped in his tracks and she glanced over her shoulder with a puzzled look.
“What?”
“You can have my car, house, family, and stocks if we can call a truce.” Extending his hand, he reached out to her. “Friends?”
She was slow to respond, but conceded without an argument. “Friends.”
That was too easy. Parke stared. Had she really agreed? It was one of those crickets chirping, sun setting, and Cheney smiling moments. As her hair danced with the wind, he caressed her soft fingers. Her sniffing was his undoing. “I need a hug, woman.” Somehow, on a busy Ferguson Street, Parke had touched Cheney, physically and maybe emotionally.
Those memories stayed with Parke the next day when he arrived home and Malcolm was pulling up to the curb.
“Hey, PJ, where you been, man?”
“With my neighbor.”
“Is this the neighbor you’re trying to get to our family night?” Parke nodded. “Newsflash, bro. A neighbor lives next door. She’s at least ten blocks away.”
“Five.”
Malcolm smirked. “I stand corrected.”
“And I’ve got a problem because Cheney doesn’t fit my profile.”
“Then I suggest you either alter your requirements or destroy them.”
***
Cheney waited for Imani to take her first sip of cappuccino as they lunched at a café near the St. Louis airport, then blurted out, “I’m scared.”
Imani didn’t swallow. “Why?”
“Parke held my hand, gave me a hug, and told me I was beautiful—”
Her friend leaned forward. “And the problem with that is?”
Cheney didn’t have an answer. “And I bought a Bible.”
Giving Cheney her full attention, Imani anchored her elbows on the table and rested her chin. “Am I supposed to be shocked? Do you know how many houses have one?”
“Funny.” She smiled for no reason.
“It’s nice to have someone to hold your hand, but what prompted you to go into a bookstore, number one? And buy a Bible of all things.” Imani tapped two fingers.
She shrugged, trying to pinpoint a lightning strike moment. “I don’t know. I was with Parke—”
“Him, again.” Imani snickered. “Okay, continue.”
“We were at this eatery, and Parke was scarfing down his sandwich when he remembered to bless his food. He included me in his prayer to bless his meal.”
“So?” Imani picked the lettuce off her chicken sandwich before taking a bite.
“Well, when I asked him why, his response was he had no idea.”
“Maybe he’s a Christian.”
Twisting her lips, Cheney poured extra Ranch dressing her salad, thinking. “I don’t think he’s not a Christian.”
“Good point. Sometimes you can’t tell the difference. Look at me. I can hang with the best of them when it comes to praying. Ask me about a scripture, and I’m googling it. I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t steal that Gideon Bible from my hotel room.”
Great minds think alike. Without a Bible, Cheney had done the same thing. Not stealing one, but Googling to find the answer. Was God talking to her?
“Back to Prince Parke…” Imani drew her mind back to their conversation.
“He reminds me of Larry.”
“Girl, you better buy a new pair of running shoes and take off.” Imani stood and checked her watch. “My layover is about up. I better get back to the airport. Stop fighting whatever is happening in your life, and start praying.”
“How can you give out advice that you don’t follow?”
Brushing a kiss against Cheney’s cheek, Imani grinned. “Easy. I haven’t been tortured for the past five years.”
Imani’s words were still ringing in Cheney’s head when she returned home after work. Another gospel tract had appeared near her front door. This time she was reading it when her doorbell rang and it was Parke.
“What’s going on? Why are you lugging that basket to my house?”
“It’s filled with goodies from Schnucks’ deli, fruits, cheeses, and finger sandwiches.” Schnucks was a locally-owned chain of supermarkets. One was close by. When she didn’t object, he busied himself, transforming her small porch into a picnic area. Grinning wickedly, Parke teased, “Suspicious, Miss Reynolds?”
Cheney folded her arms and leaned against her doorframe. “Are you buttering me up for a big investment pitch? Funny, you hardly mention stocks or bonds around me.”
“When I’m with you, shop talk doesn’t come to mind. I’m more interested in our relaxed atmosphere. We have easy conversation and unforgettable moments.”
“Parke, we argue.”
“I see it as we discuss, you respond. I disagree with whatever you say. It’s unrehearsed. I’m drawn to you, but you’re still pushing me away, but not as hard.”
She didn’t offer a rebuttal as Parke tapped his iPod and gospel music filled the air. He waited for her to sit before reaching for her hand. He bowed his head. Since Parke was quiet, Cheney assumed he was praying silently, so she bowed her head.
“I’m still not sure what to say, God, except bless Cheney, me, and our food.”
She looked up. “Why do you keep doing that? Asking God to bless me?”
“Beats me, it seems as if good things happen when I do. Personally, I think my friend has bumped me up to the top of her prayer list. Annette leaves daily scriptures on my phone. Plus, I know she’s behind the ridiculous gospel tracts showing up at my door.”
“Your friend is probably hitting my house, too.” Cheney bit into her turkey sandwich. “I wonder if Grandma BB has gotten any.” Her mind wandered as she swallowed gulps of root beer as if she was dehydrated.
“Maybe. It’s a good thing you were home or I’d have camped out on your porch and ate the whole basket.”
She held back a smile. “Greedy thing. Grandma BB would’ve called the police.”
They laughed as a cool breeze danced around them. Soon their food was gone.
“Actually, Brian was supposed to teach me how to play Spanish checkers, but something happened. Since I’m done with the major house renovations, I’m going to sign up for a cooking class.”
“What happened with your boyfriend?”
That was unexpected. She frowned. “Why would you want to know about Larry?”
Parke bent his knee and rested his arm on it as he stroked his chin. “I was referring to Br
ian, but I see I have to deal with Larry’s ghost, too.”
Embarrassed, she experienced a ‘Want to Get-A-way commercial’ moment.
“Listen, I wasn’t going to say anything—”
She punched him in the arm. “Shut up, Parkay.” They laughed, then Cheney cleared her throat. “Back to Brian, he says he borrowed his younger sister’s allowance money to buy a video game, but he forgot to tell her. His memory loss is costing him two weeks without the computer, phone, or playing outside.”
He gagged on his sandwich. “Yikes. How did you find out?”
“His mother e-mailed me.” Cheney chuckled.
“I’m about to test the waters,” Parke said, changing the mood. “You, Miss Reynolds, mesmerize me. There’s a cooking school called The Chef’s Kitchen not far from here that offers monthly cooking classes. I would be honored to be your partner.”
That was sweet, she thought. “You’ve got so many facets to your personality—sometimes you’re sweet, conceited most of the time, and confusing all the time.”
“I only act like that with you.” Parke took a swig from his can of iced tea.
“Mmm-hmm. Well, I truly hope you find a very special woman.”
“Stop dogging yourself out, Cheney. You’re special. If this Larry character had treated your relationship right, you wouldn’t keep second-guessing yourself.”
“That was years ago. Believe me when I say I have nothing to offer.”
“Cheney, you’re wrong…”
“You won’t win this argument, Parke.”
“I probably could, but I won’t even try. How about a night of fun, games, food, and plenty of loud and crazy people?”
“I’m not getting on a gambling boat.”
“I’m talking about my family, not a casino.”
“I’d rather gamble.”
***
The Chef’s Kitchen was a large classroom located behind the kitchen of the Neighborhood Grill. It was also the place where local culinary students vied for a spot. It was no surprise that all ten workstations with connecting kitchenettes were occupied. Parke called in a favor from a client whose now lucrative investment was once a worthless portfolio. Andre’ Valroy had bumped a student down to create an opening.
“Did you notice we were the only ones coupled off?” Cheney whispered.
“The only thing I noticed was you. You look pretty tonight with your hair piled on top of your head. It’s sexy.”
She was about to remove the hairpins when Parke stayed her hands. “Don’t.”
“Okay, let’s get started,” Andre’ began after his introduction. “This is a three week course. Each Monday, you’ll try dishes from around the world. . Some of you will create a Vietnamese dish of peanut sticky rice, roast chicken balti, and fish korma from India. The rest of you will prepare Cambodian eggplant with pork and shrimp, and Japanese new potatoes with sesame sauce.”
“Let’s try the eggplant. I like pork and shrimp.”
“I was hoping for the fish korma,” Cheney countered, not surprisingly.
“Pretty lady, I’m cooking the fish korma. I don’t mind letting you taste test,” a dark-skinned, clean-shaven and bald-headed brother commented, flirting.
“Why, thank you.” Cheney grinned.
“No, thank you,” Parke was quick to reply. “We’re cooking the fish korma.”
The man boldly checked Cheney’s ring finger, then shrugged. “My name’s Tyrone in case you change your mind.”
“She won’t,” Parke snapped.
“I will, Ty,” Cheney thanked him, probably just to irritate Parke.
So as she concentrated on following the recipes, Parke kept an evil eye on Tyrone and three other men who approached their table, offering Cheney a taste. What was it with the male species? They insisted on getting her opinion since the other two women in the class were tipping the scales, evidence they liked anything, including the mixing spoon.
A dude named Shabazz made himself too comfortable at their work station. To keep from asking him to step outside to break his bones, Parke did the next best thing when the guy wouldn’t take any more hints. He kissed Cheney on the forehead and whispered loud enough for two nearby work stations to hear.
“Sweetheart, I’ll cook any dish you want after we get home and I’ll give you your back rub tonight, but we need to learn these recipes. You know how the triplets don’t like to eat the same thing twice.”
Cheney’s mouth dropped open as the predators scattered. Later that night, before she slammed the door in his face, she chewed him out. “What was wrong with you back there? Those guys were having fun. They weren’t serious about me.”
“Well, I am.”
“I suggest you tone down the testosterone. I’m not interested in them or any man.” Then unexpectedly, Cheney slapped him silly.
Despite the sting, Parke retaliated by kissing her silly. A truce was finally called when Mrs. Beacon, who apparently was eavesdropping, got tired of them bickering.
“Should I get my popcorn and a folding chair?” her neighbor asked.
“That won’t be necessary,” Parke told her. “Cheney and I were finishing up our negotiations.”
Cheney agreed to help him prepare a dish for his upcoming family game night, but she wouldn’t stay.
“Deal.” With fingers crossed behind Parke’s back, he promised not to kiss her again.
Chapter Seventeen
Hallison had been spooked since her mother’s long and drawn out prayer that night with Malcolm. She attempted to read her Bible regularly again, but a verse was all she could tolerate. Of all nights, why did she read the entire first chapter of Psalm?
“I don’t care about the man being blessed because he didn’t walk in the counsel of the ungodly.” She didn’t want to meditate on God’s laws day and night, “And I don’t want to hear about the ungodly perishing. I haven’t seen it yet.”
Tossing the Bible on a chair, Hallison rubbed her eyes, craving the taste of nicotine. “Why did I stop smoking?” She started the rebellious habit as soon as she left the church years ago. She quit after her mother’s last long prayer.
Shaky fingers fumbled to turn off her lamp as her mind blocked out the scriptures. “I don’t want to save myself.” Malcolm would be her second major step of independence and rebellion. Her lids drifted as her phone rang. Please don’t let it be Mama. “Hello?”
“Hi, sweetheart,” Malcolm’s rich, deep voice tickled her ears, calming her storm.
She whispered his name. “I didn’t expect you to call. Didn’t you work late?”
“I couldn’t miss hearing you say my name with those gorgeous lips of yours. How did your day go? Anybody messin’ with my baby?”
Yeah, God is nagging me. Nothing you can do about that. “It gets better when I talk to you.”
“I think I’ll kidnap you.”
“I’ll be your willing captive.” She conjured up of all sorts of naughty thoughts.
“Then I’ll sweep you away for a romantic weekend getaway after Parke’s get-together tomorrow night. Pack light for the Ritz-Carlton.”
She was ready. Hallison’s heart slammed against her chest as words stuck in her tightening throat. She needed a cigarette, patch, or pill.
When she hesitated, he softly called her name, “Talk to me, baby. We can wait.” Tenderness and understanding saturated his words. There was no hint of disappointment.
Her voice broke with emotion. “I’m so ready.”
“Me, too.”
“Thank you.”
“Why are you thanking me? I should be thanking you for being my woman.”
“Thank you for being that man I’m crazy about.”
“I’ll pick you up around six-thirty tomorrow.”
“‘Night.”
“Good night, beautiful.”
When Hallison hung up, she beat the bed with her heels in a blissful mood. “I hope Mama doesn’t pray for me between now and Saturday!”
Friday morning,
Hallison hummed as she danced across her bedroom floor. That night, she’d meet Parke’s mystery neighbor, and then on to her rendezvous. Opening her window, she could feel the lingering summer heat in the fall air. “A change is comin’.”
Hallison was applying lip liner when her phone rang. In her three-inch heels, she leaped from the bathroom like a ballerina. Malcolm. “Good morning,” she almost sung.
“Good morning to you, sweetie.”
“Oh.” Her body slumped into a nearby chair. “Hi, Mama.”
“What’s the matter, baby?”
“Oh, nothing.” Hallison gritted her teeth, lying and hoping her mother wouldn’t pray for her, not today. Things always happened when her mother prayed.
“Well, I’ll pray that you have a better day.”
“No!” Panic spread through Hallison’s body. “I mean, I’m fine.”
“Good. A package came for you yesterday. You want me to drop it off?”
She had ordered shoes from a catalog to wear that night. How had she mistakenly given her mother’s address? “I’ll swing by after work. I have to go. Love you. Bye.”
Late afternoon, Hallison realized she had spent most of her workday gazing at the clock instead of reviewing résumés. She dreaded the idea of stopping by her mother’s house, but Malcolm was going to love those shoes with her hip-hugging jeans. The phone interrupted her musing. She answered, “Hallison Dinkins, Director of Personnel.”
“Malcolm Jamieson, the man who is planning to love you senseless this weekend,” he cooed into the receiver.
Hallison smiled. “Promise?”
“Yes, and I’d never break a promise to you, baby.”
“Good to know.”
“I’m calling to see how your day is going and throw some kisses your way.”
Ridiculously happy, she giggled. “You’re silly.”
“One of my many qualities.”
“I’ll see you later?”
“Nothing can keep me away.”
I sure hope not. “I’m stopping by Mama’s on my way home.”
