“The Beauty Box wasn’t open a half hour before folks started gossiping about seeing you and Nate at Happy Hour together. A few of them had the audacity to ask me if you and Nate were a couple, and you know yours truly didn’t part her lips.”
Massaging her temples with her fingertips, Morgan met Francine’s eyes. “That’s because you have my back, and also your mama would fire you on the spot. You know she doesn’t allow gossip in the shop.”
“Word,” she drawled. “After that incident when Selma repeated something she’d heard about Miss Cindy’s husband fooling around with some young girl from Charleston and Miss Cindy came into the shop waving a pistol while screaming, ‘I’m going to kill the lying heifer,’ my mother established the no-gossip policy.”
“Gossip or not, there’s nothing going on between me and Nate except friendship.”
“You know there’re different levels of friendship, Mo.”
“We are just friends.”
“Are you going to go out with him again?”
“Yeah,” Morgan said, drawing out the word. “But it’s not what you think. We’ll be busy with work.”
Stretching her legs, Francine stared at the navy blue polish on her toes. “All it takes is one time.”
“One time for what?”
“For you to sleep with Nate and get pregnant.”
Morgan emitted a groan of exasperation. “I told you Nate and I are friends. He doesn’t want a relationship, and neither do I.”
“Maybe not now, but it’s coming, and I promise not to say, ‘I told you so.’”
“Can we please change the subject, Fran?”
“Sure, Mo.”
“Are you doing anything?”
“When?” Francine asked.
“Now.”
She sat up straight. “No. What do you have in mind?”
“I’ll make dinner for you.”
Combing her fingers through her curls, Francine tucked them behind her ears.
“What’s on the menu?”
Morgan stood up. “What do you feel like eating?”
Francine pushed to her feet. A mysterious smile parted her lips when she stared at Morgan.
“It’s been a while since I’ve had steak.”
Morgan smiled. “You’re in luck, because I happen to have a couple of rib-eye steaks in the freezer. Now that it’s getting cooler we can grill and eat outside.”
“You’ll grill and I’ll eat,” Francine said teasingly.
“Let’s go, Red.”
“Hey,” she said to Morgan’s back as she walked out of the parlor. “You never call me Red.”
“I’m going to start calling you that until you learn how to cook.”
“As long as I have friends and relatives willing to feed me there’s no need for me to spend time sweating over a hot stove.”
“What are you going to do when you have kids? Fill them up with fast food?”
Francine followed Morgan into the expansive gourmet kitchen. “Their grandmomma will feed them like my grandmomma feeds me.”
“Well, if you want to eat tonight, then you’re going to have to sing for your supper.”
Climbing up on a stool at the cooking island, Francine watched Morgan as she opened the freezer and took out a plastic bag containing the butcher-paper-wrapped steaks. “What do you want me to sing?”
“A few tunes from Porgy and Bess, Evita, and West Side Story.”
“Hey, that’s a lot of singing.”
Morgan flashed her charming dimples. “I’m offering three courses: salad, entrée, and dessert. And I’m also willing to offer you a choice of beverages.”
Resting her elbows on the black granite countertop, Francine lifted her eyebrows. “What are my choices?”
“Latte, frappé, cappuccino, wine, margarita, piña colada, espresso, and tea.”
“Well, damn! With choices like those I don’t mind singing for my supper.”
The two women dissolved into a paroxysm of laughter that left tears rolling down their cheeks. Despite whatever was going on in their lives, they could always count on each other for support.
Nate opened the screen door, holding it so it wouldn’t slam against the frame, and entered the house where he’d spent the first eighteen years of his life. Since returning to the Creek he hadn’t been able to think of it as home. It looked and smelled different from what he remembered. It wasn’t that Odessa had changed the house much since she’d become its mistress. However, her subtle touches were apparent. The pale blue walls his mother favored were now white. The beautiful parquet floors his father had laid before he brought Manda home as his bride were now concealed under area rugs, something his mother would’ve never done.
There were additions to the photographs that lined the fireplace mantel in the living room, chronicling the family’s milestones over the years: Lucas and Odessa’s wedding picture, Sharon’s college graduation photo, and Bryce’s high school graduation picture. Framed photos of Sharon’s children rested on a credenza, along with a couple of bonsai trees.
Nate walked past the dining room and its table set for six, wondering who else Odessa had invited to eat with them. Voices raised in laughter came from the kitchen, and he headed in that direction. He was mildly shocked to find his father, Odessa, Bryce, and two young women who were obviously sisters. Both had the same ash-blond hair and large gray eyes. Odessa was busy basting a roasting chicken while Lucas peered into a pot on the stove.
Nate stood in the entrance to the kitchen, staring at Odessa. Why hadn’t he noticed it before? Now he knew why his father had been drawn to his second wife. She was Lucas’s type: petite, sophisticated, and outgoing. Although he’d tried, Nate still didn’t think of Odessa as his stepmother. She was his father’s wife and his brother’s mother.
Odessa glanced up, smiling. The skin around her brown eyes crinkled when she smiled. The glow from an overhead light fixture reflected off the gray in her short black hair. “Nate. I’m glad you decided to join us.” Everyone in the kitchen turned to look at him.
“I told Dad I was coming.”
Wiping his hands on a towel, Lucas approached Nate. Placing his arms around his shoulders, he pulled him close. “Thanks for coming,” he whispered in his ear.
He smiled. “Thanks for inviting me.”
Lucas eased back. “You know you don’t have to wait for an invitation. This house is as much yours as it is mine.”
Nate wanted to tell his father it wasn’t his house. It stopped being his home the day he left Cavanaugh Island for college.
He handed Lucas a shopping bag. “I picked up some dessert at the Muffin Corner.”
Lucas looked into the bag. “What did you bring?”
“Strawberry shortcake.”
The older man swore softly under his breath. “They don’t call Lester Kelly the cake man for nothing. You know,” he continued in a normal tone, “I’ve cut down on dessert, but I’m certain Bryce will eat my share.”
Odessa set the roasting pan on a rack in the oven, adjusted the temperature, and closed the door. “Bryce, please introduce your friends to Nate.”
Bryce came to his feet and gave Nate a rough embrace. He was grinning from ear to ear. “Ladies, this is my brother, Nate. Nate, the one in the red is my girlfriend, Stacy Butler. And that’s her sister, Amber.”
Nate extended his hand, shaking hands with Stacy and Amber. He’d found both women attractive, but it dawned on him that he was more estranged from his family than he’d realized. Six months ago he’d finally gotten to know his niece and nephew, and now, for the first time, he was meeting a woman Bryce was dating. He’d missed his brother coming to him to talk about girls and maybe even ask his advice when it came to sex.
He’d stayed in his marriage much too long, and perhaps because of this he admired Stacy for breaking up with Bryce. It was obvious she hadn’t condoned his behavior and she wasn’t going to let him crash and burn, taking her with him. Nate had encountered women who continu
ed to support their incarcerated boyfriends, husbands, and baby daddies even if they were serving multiple life sentences. He understood they didn’t want to completely abandon the men they loved, but the downside was that these men were going to die in jail, and the women should begin planning their own future without them. If Stacy was going to be the catalyst who would help Bryce redirect his life, then Nate had to applaud her.
Odessa wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Why don’t you young folks go and sit on the back porch? It’s going to be at least twenty minutes before we eat.”
“Are you certain you don’t need any help?” Nate asked. Unconsciously, he’d slipped back into the patterns of the past, when he’d ask his mother whether she needed help in the kitchen, especially on occasions when she’d complain that she felt tired after coming home from her position as a school nurse.
Odessa, in a completely unexpected gesture, stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for asking, but I have everything under control. And thanks for bringing dessert.”
Not waiting for the others, Nate walked out of the kitchen and down a wide hallway that led to the back porch, plagued by emotions that swept him up in a maelstrom of confusion. He had become part of a family unit, even though he sometimes wanted to reject it because he felt he was being disloyal to his mother’s memory.
He’d lost count of how many times he’d tried to imagine Manda’s reaction to Odessa marrying her husband. Would she approve? Or would she think of it as an act of betrayal that while she lay dying her childhood friend was in her bed making love to her husband?
For years Nate had blamed Odessa, yet he knew his father shared equally in the blame. After all, he was married, and he had the audacity to fornicate under the same roof where he lived with his children. There was one thing he was certain of, and that was that Kim had never cuckolded him in their bed. She’d been forthcoming when she admitted to sleeping with her lovers in a small apartment she’d kept for her rendezvous in a less-than-desirable neighborhood in East L.A.
Nate slowed, waiting for Amber and Stacy to precede him out to the back porch. He sat on a cushioned love seat beside Amber and gave her a sidelong glance. Upon closer inspection he realized she was older than Stacy, who appeared closer to Bryce’s age. There were tiny lines around her eyes and tightness at the corners of her mouth. Her fingers were bare, leading him to believe she wasn’t married or engaged. There were other things he’d noticed about her. Amber’s skin was reminiscent of a ripe peach, a pinkish gold. It was the perfect complement for her pale hair.
Bryce sat opposite them, his arm around Stacy’s shoulders. “Hey, Nate, Stacy and I are going into the Cove to catch a movie afterward. Maybe you want to come along with Amber.”
Suddenly it all made sense to Nate. It was obvious that Bryce had invited Amber to join the Shaws for dinner because he’d wanted to pair him up with his girlfriend’s sister. “Sorry, bro. I have plans for later on tonight.”
Amber leaned closer, pressing her shoulder to Nate’s. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
“No, I don’t,” he replied.
Amber gave him a wide grin. “That’s where we differ, because there’s no way I’d forget you. I was part of the press corps that covered your wedding.”
Nate found himself temporarily mute. What were the odds that he would meet someone on Cavanaugh Island who’d attended his wedding? “Who do you write for?”
“I’m a freelance journalist. I have a syndicated column that appears in several papers across the country.”
“Did you come here expecting me to give you an interview?”
Amber chewed her lip as if deep in thought. “Look, Nate, I’m going to be truthful. When Stacy called to tell me she’d reconciled with your brother, the name Shaw piqued my interest because I’d remembered that you were born on Cavanaugh Island. Even though she hadn’t met you, Bryce told her you were once married to Kimberly Mason. And when she told me she was planning to eat with your parents I figured I’d tag along, hoping to get lucky.”
“What do you mean by lucky?”
She leaned closer. “I’d like to interview you.”
Nate was annoyed that his brother had attempted to set him up with a reporter looking for a story. “I’m sorry, but I don’t give interviews.”
Amber slumped back, folding her arms under her breasts. “Have you kept in touch with your ex-wife?”
Nate went still. He’d told Amber he didn’t grant interviews, yet she’d persisted. “No comment.”
“You’re really going to make this difficult for me, aren’t you, Nate?”
“It wouldn’t be difficult if you respected my decision not to give interviews.”
“Not even for family?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Amber whispered. “My sister told me she and Bryce are talking about getting married.”
Nate didn’t want to believe Bryce wanted to marry his girlfriend at this point in his life. He was still on probation; he could only leave the island if it was business related; he lived with his parents, and he had only recently begun to draw a regular paycheck. It wasn’t a solid foundation on which to begin married life. However, whatever his brother decided, Nate knew he would have to support him.
“My answer would be the same.”
“Are you always this stubborn?” Amber asked Nate.
He smiled. “I’m as stubborn as you are tenacious.”
She rested a hand on his arm. “We’d make a good team if we decided to hook up. That is, unless—” Her words stopped abruptly when Lucas stuck his head through the partially opened door.
“Y’all come on in now.”
Nate wasn’t certain what Bryce had said to Amber about him, but his brother had to know he wouldn’t talk to anyone about Kim. Even when Bryce had asked about her, he’d told him he didn’t want to talk about his ex-wife.
He walked into the dining room, seated Amber, and then returned to the kitchen to help bring out the serving dishes. Glancing at the clock on the microwave, Nate estimated dinner would last a couple of hours, followed by coffee and dessert.
He knew it was customary to sit after dinner and talk, but this night he would break with tradition. Nate was not only waiting for Morgan to call him, he was also looking forward to seeing her again.
Chapter Ten
Sunday dinner at the Danes’ had become a relaxed and somewhat festive affair. Rachel was teased because she claimed she didn’t want to know her baby’s sex, and she hadn’t selected names for a boy or a girl. Irene said she’d dreamed of Rachel holding up a fish in each hand and, according to superstition, dreaming of fish translated into a pregnancy. And two fish was an indication that Rachel was carrying twins. All the talk about pregnancy and babies did little to assuage Morgan’s unease, and once dinner concluded she breathed a sigh of relief, claiming she had work to do before meeting with a client the following day. Her assertion was truthful, because she’d promised Nate she would look at his apartment to offer decorating ideas.
Francine’s vision continued to nag at Morgan as she stood on the porch watching the taillights of her parents’ car disappear in the distance. She’d spent a restless night tossing and turning, dreaming about babies. Her friend’s prediction had even hounded her at church, making it difficult to concentrate on the pastor’s sermon, and she’d been so distracted during dinner that even her mother asked her if she was coming down with something. She’d reassured her mother that she was okay, and just had a lot on her mind. When Gussie asked what could be so absorbing that she had to repeat herself several times before Morgan heard her, her daughter offered everyone an update on the Angels Landing Plantation restoration. Both her parents warned her not to get in over her head, and said that if she needed help she should hire an assistant. She didn’t need an assistant as much as she needed to purge her head of Francine’s unsettling prediction, because having Nate’s baby wasn’t even a remote possibility. Becoming a m
other was not on Morgan’s wish list.
She reached into the back pocket of her jeans for her phone, then punched the speed dial for Nate’s cell. He answered after the second ring, his low greeting caressing her ear. “How was Sunday dinner?” she asked.
“It was interesting.”
“I can’t wait to hear about it.”
“How was yours?” Nate asked.
“Probably not as interesting as yours, but entertaining enough,” Morgan replied, going inside the house, where she adjusted the thermostat for the air-conditioning and plucked her house keys out of a small sweetgrass basket on the parlor side table.
She smiled when his sensual chuckle came through the earpiece. “Are you ready for me to come and get you?”
Morgan locked the front door. “Forget about coming. I’m on my way. I’ll be on foot.”
“I’ll meet you halfway.”
“Nate—” Whatever she was going to say died on her lips when the cell phone signal faded. Morgan had decided to walk the short distance between her house and Shaw Woodworking. The building was a familiar landmark to anyone living in the Creek and to those who called Cavanaugh Island home. It was visible from the road leading directly into the Creek’s business district.
It was the perfect night for a walk. The sweltering afternoon temperatures had dropped almost fifteen degrees, and a light wind coming off the ocean made it comfortable. Morgan had chided Nate about leaving the Creek to live elsewhere, when at one time she’d been equally guilty of occasionally entertaining the notion.
Whenever she traveled to another state or abroad, she tried to imagine living there permanently. But there was something about Cavanaugh Island that kept pulling her back. There were times when she understood what Al Pacino’s character in The Godfather Part III meant when he said he was being pulled back in. Although not prone to bouts of sadness, Morgan realized she’d suffered from some form of melancholy the year she’d lived abroad. It was on the island where she felt alive, inspired.
She moved closer to the shoulder of the road with the sound of an approaching car, then stopped and waited for it to pass. The driver slowed, rolled down the driver’s-side window, and waved to her. Rap music was blasting from his muscle car’s speakers.
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