"But Xavier," Carson said, a touch of exasperation to his voice, "this is way off the main road."
"Five minutes," Xavier said patiently. "It just seemed longer because of the dirt track, and it is just twenty minutes to your garage. I can stop by for band practice on Wednesdays."
"Does it have any amenities? Like light? Water?" Carson was looking around, a disappointed frown on his face.
Xavier laughed. "We have electricity, we do have running water, and it even has telecommunications. I still need to keep in touch with my business, you know. I might have sold off some of it, but the apps development side of things is still alive and well and being run by Bobbie-Ann. She is even talking of opening an office here in Jamaica. It would be perfect."
Carson shook his head. "You are richer than Midas. Why are you living in the bushes like a hermit? I would expect you to take a place up in Rose Hall or one of those luxurious areas, but this is like very deep country."
"It appears like deep country yet it's not. It's relatively close to the town and that's exactly what I want—just the sound of crickets in my ears at night instead of car horns tooting. And by the way, I am somewhat like a hermit, always have been. You can't see it now," Xavier said grinning, "but through the overgrowth there is a view to die for of the blue sea and the green lagoon."
Carson grimaced. "I'll take your word for it. I am not wading through that waist high grass to see anything."
"Wuss." Xavier laughed. "I predict that by the time I am done with up here and have made it into a paradise, you and Alice and Mia won't want to leave."
"I have no doubt that you will work a miracle on the place," Carson conceded, "but for now I really wish you would stay with us and direct renovations from the comfort of our house."
"I know I should have asked Ian to see the place instead of you. At least he'd see my vision," Xavier said. "You just can't help playing mother hen, can you?"
Carson rolled his eyes. "Old habits die hard. Are you sure your eyes are a hundred percent now?"
"Yes, worry-wart," Xavier answered dutifully. "I told you, I can see almost as well as you can. I wear glasses to read but that's about it."
"And you can see that the roof on your new house is about to collapse?"
"Yes," Xavier said sarcastically. "I can even see it in color. I'll get it fixed before I move in. Is that all?"
"Furniture," Carson said. "You need to go furniture shopping."
Xavier shook his head. "The house already has some old pieces. All I need to buy is a bed and some office supplies…maybe a new sofa bed, just in case you want to spend a night up here. By this time next week I'll be well and truly moved in."
Carson shrugged. "I don't get it. We worked so hard to get out of the ghetto and substandard living..."
"And that is why I loved this property when I saw it," Xavier said earnestly. "First there was the ghetto and its tight constraints and then there was my condo in California. They had one thing in common—no land space. This place has lots of space, and then some. It is perfect for me."
Carson grunted. "Well, put like that, I guess I understand. Up here will be pitch black at night, though."
"I will eventually put in lights and all of that stuff," Xavier replied, "don't worry. I am not going to be living substandard forever. I will participate in modern living soon. I have a plan for this place. I want a massive garden and a natural swimming pool with some waterfalls."
Carson chuckled. "That sounds more like it."
*****
Xavier moved into his cottage a week after speaking to Carson. He found the place utterly charming and rustic. It had two large bedrooms, an open concept living room, and a kitchen. The previous owners were artists and they had added some unique touches to the place, such as natural tree planks for the ceiling beams and a tree stump for the living room's center table.
He dropped his bag in the master bedroom and lay down on his newly-bought queen-sized bed, which took up most of the room. He had stuff to do but for now he was just relishing the absolute quiet of the place, except for the wind that was playing with his sheer white curtains at the bay window.
He had gotten a cleaning service to come in after the roof was repaired, and he was pleasantly surprised to see how nice and airy the place was after they had passed through. It might not be a mansion but it was infinitely comfortable; it was as if the house was waiting for someone to love it.
He planned to convert the second bedroom into an office; he was just waiting for the utility company to come and connect him to the rest of the world. After that, he intended to clean the entire five-acre property, ridding it of overgrown grass and shrubs, an acre at a time. It would also give him the workout that he needed, since he had not been to the gym since his return to Jamaica.
He closed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling deeply. He wished he had his guitar to play a song. He had left it at Carson's, along with some of his other things. It should have been the first thing that he brought over. That guitar had seen him through an utterly miserable childhood. He had been called so many names and bullied so badly that Bob Marley's song I Am Hurting Inside was his theme song for years.
Sometimes he would return home from school bloody and battered. In one such incident he broke a finger; to blot out the pain he headed to his and Carson's poky little room and grabbed his guitar and belted out Marley's song, singing it loudly.
His mother was hardly home to hear him but his brother usually was and at times Carson would just silently listen, with tears in his eyes. He was the only one who really understood how tough he had had it.
Carson was usually the first one to defend him when people called him names. His brother had always been a little spitfire. Though younger than him by two years, he had taken up the defensive big brother role.
He chuckled to himself while reflecting on how bereft and depressed he felt back then. He marveled at how God had brought him through those very trying early years and how much he had blessed him immensely.
He always felt as if he had been on an obstacle course. Childhood was the first; the teenage years were not bad because he was invisible to most people; but early adulthood had been the worst. Farrah had a lot to do with that but he was trying hard not to think about her today. He had succeeded in the past week since meeting her at the hospital but he wasn't going to waste a brain cell thinking about her today.
With the wind blowing so gently outside and the day so bright and worry-free, he was trying not to remember anything from his childhood but his hand was itching to play that guitar and the song's line, happiness come back I say, was repeating itself in his head, maybe because his only happy moments were those when he thought that he was in love. He had never really captured that feeling again.
He got up and swung his feet off the bed and stretched. He rummaged in his bag for his iPod and stuck its ear buds into his ears. If he couldn't play the song, he could at least listen to it. He headed to the shed at the side of the house for the old lawn mower, which was finicky but still in working order, according to the previous owners.
He started on the grass at the front of the house and bopped his head to the music. The memories wouldn't leave him, though; they clung to the edges of his subconscious like the burrs on his pants legs. He smiled as he remembered the day he first met Farrah Knight...
Chapter Four
Summer 1989
"The doctors said he had strabismus." He overheard his mother in the kitchen explaining to Gloria Knight about his eye condition. Most people just called it cross-eyed but his mother insisted on using the doctor's terms, as if it would give his problem some kind of dignity.
Gloria was the lady of the house but she was hardly there. It was only the fourth time he was seeing her, out of all the times he visited her house. His mother always had him stay on the veranda in the back and warned him not to make a sound.
"He is a bit clumsy but harmless," his mother continued in an apologetic tone. "I had to take him with me for th
e summer. He doesn't read too well because of the eye problem so I can't send him to summer school like I do my other boy, Carson."
"Oh." Gloria Knight came out to the back veranda and looked him over. She was tall, almost as tall as her husband, and he was a giant. Xavier always hid whenever he walked by.
He felt like a puppy under Mrs. Knight's eagle-eyed perusal. Her jet-black hair was cut in a severe hairstyle that looked like a man's. She had a little lighter skin tone than he had and had a big red birthmark on her left cheek. She looked formidable, and her lips were pursed in displeasure.
He was expecting her to tell his mother to get rid of him any minute now, and Xavier tensed himself for the inevitable rejection.
"Are you looking at me now, Xavier?" she asked in a smooth, pleasant voice that belied her stern look.
"Yes, ma'am," he answered politely.
"Can you read any at all?"
"Er..." he hung his head. The truth was, when he looked into a book the words kept running together. "Not so well, ma'am."
"Hmm." She rubbed her chin and then turned to his mother, who had followed Mrs. Knight to the kitchen doorway.
"What did the doctor say about treatment?"
"The doctor said he could get special glasses to help with the reading and of course, there is surgery," his mother said, a helpless quality to her voice.
She always sounded like that when she was talking about him. Xavier shriveled inside. He knew why she was feeling hopeless. She thought that he would never amount to anything. She was constantly fretting that she would have to take care of him for the rest of her life and that they would never find enough money to get the corrective eye surgery done. The surgery was extremely expensive.
"Find out the cost of the glasses," Mrs. Knight said to his mother briskly, "and let me know by week's end. I'll pay for it. In the meantime, he can learn to read properly starting next week. He can join Farrah's reading classes with her tutor. She's not reading too well either."
She swung around, barely acknowledging his mother's effusive thank you's and God bless you's, and then turned back and looked at him. "What's that you are fidgeting with?"
Xavier felt warmth ride up his face. He had found the old radio in the garbage bin at the bottom of the garden just this morning. The antenna was broken and a few resistors needed to be replaced. He had already made the repairs and was contemplating what to do with the radio.
"It's a radio," he said nervously. "I found it in the trash."
"I know. I put it there." Mrs. Knight walked up to him slowly. "It hasn't worked for years. It was one of my old keepsakes but I was doing spring cleaning." She smiled at the old radio fondly. "I had it in high school. Those were the good old days, when radio was king. Now you children have television."
Xavier nodded, repressing a sigh of relief that she wasn't mad that he had taken the radio.
"It's working," he said helpfully. "I just fixed a wire or two in there."
Mrs. Knight looked from the radio to him. "Impossible. I asked our electrician to fix it and he said it was hopeless."
She stooped down beside Xavier; she was so near he could smell her perfume. She plugged it into the socket that he was sitting beside. He had already tuned the radio to a music station and the music came on loud, making her jump in surprise.
Mrs. Knight straightened up from where she had stooped down and looked at Xavier so long he began to squirm.
"You can keep the radio," she said. "I have never seen anything like this before. Delores!" she called to his mother, who had not left the kitchen door entrance. She stood there, anxiously waiting to hear if Xavier would get in trouble.
"Yes ma'am," Delores said, a smile in her voice. She had known for a long time that her child might not be able to read but he had a near-genius way with electronics. He was the one that kept their old radio at home going, so this was nothing new to her.
"This boy," Gloria said, pointing at Xavier with a smile in her voice, "is one to watch."
"Yes ma'am," Delores responded, a wide smile on her face.
"Goodbye Delores and Xavier," she said warmly.
"Goodbye ma'am." They said almost at the same time.
"Oh, and Xavier," she turned around, "don't forget your lessons with Farrah's tutor, Emily. You can go and watch television in the living room when you are done. You can go in the back courtyard now. Farrah is there playing with her dolls. She would appreciate the company."
"Thanks ma'am," Xavier said eagerly. He had problems watching television and he tried to avoid it for long stretches of time, but this was awesome. He was allowed in the big rambling place and he was allowed to play tea with the little girl he had not even met yet, but he had seen the delicacies his mother prepared for her and her imaginary friends to eat. His belly rumbled at the thought and he headed to the back courtyard as soon as Mrs. Knight went away.
"Hey," a little voice called to him as soon as he entered the back courtyard.
"Hey," Xavier waved in the direction of the voice. Though she was hiding behind a big potted plant, he could see trails of her hair.
He looked around and wondered whom she was hiding from and then shrugged when he realized that she must have been playing with an imaginary friend.
He sat around a low circular bench between two dollies and a teddy bear. All of them had plates of daintily cut sandwiches before them. He helped himself to the teddy bear's sandwich and some of his drinks.
"Who are you?" The little girl came and sat before him, putting her hand to her cheek.
Xavier smiled. "I am Xavier Bell, Delores' son. Your mom said I could come and keep your company."
"Oh." She nodded and then scolded him, "You had Teddy's food. That's stealing."
"Sorry," Xavier stammered.
"You should be," she said, "because Teddy was hungry. I am going to ask Delores for some for you. You must never touch Teddy's food again; it's his, not yours."
"Okay." Xavier relaxed. He had thought that he would have gotten in further trouble with her; who knows how young children think?
"My name is Farrah Rose Knight," she said primly. She took up her teacup and poured lemonade into it. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Xavier Bell."
Xavier grinned. "Likewise."
He looked at her properly while she had her head down. She would grow up to be a pretty girl. He could see it now—one of those heartbreaker rich girl types. She already had the attitude but then she looked up and smiled at him with her gap-toothed smile, and his heart melted. She must be lonely, not having anyone to play with. That was when he vowed to be her friend.
*****
Xavier snapped out of his recollection and wiped his brow. He had gone over the same spot of lawn twice and still it looked like he hadn't taken the mower to it. He turned off the mower and dragged it to the shed. He could fix it and it would be as good as new. He wished that he could say the same for the friendship he had with Farrah. That was something that might never be fixed and that made him sad, he had to grudgingly admit. He sat and looked at the mower.
Chapter Five
Farrah Knight Cavendish…Farrah sat at her desk in her sitting room and wrote in flowery letters on a blank piece of paper. Even writing the name didn't feel right to her.
She had exactly one week left to send out the invitations and though she had gotten them from Ruby and Cynth three days prior. She had yet to sign her name to any of them.
She grabbed the one with Xavier's name. This was not the first time she was looking at it and mulling over in her mind whether she should call him. She could easily get his number from his sister-in-law, Alice, who Ruby had recommended to be her official hairdresser or Carson, who she still talked to occasionally. She wondered what she would say if she called him.
Hi Xavier, it's me. I just wanted to talk to someone and you were always the best listener. I miss you so much.
It was so tempting to do that. She figured that the Xavier of old would have listened to her, but this ne
w Xavier she was not very sure of. He was handsome, remote and looked as if he had outgrown her.
She could always call Jason and talk to him, but she was not sure that he would be available. These days she hardly spoke to him at all. He was so busy she couldn't remember the last time they had a conversation for longer than ten minutes. Maybe since he had proposed, when he had gone into a long speech about how compatible they were together and how happy they would be if they worked on it. Once she said yes and since that vacation, he had gotten scarce and less accessible.
She could always call Darla but her friend had recently gotten a job as a marketing officer for a hotel chain and was currently out of the parish. Kate, her other pal, was involved with some mystery guy who had her all tied up and who insisted that she travel to meet him in various locations overseas for them to have secret trysts.
It was at times like these that she missed Alka, her very best pal, who had left for India seven years ago to marry a man she had been promised to as a child. They had managed to keep in touch sporadically through the years but Alka had gone silent for the past two years. She had no idea where her friend was or what she was doing.
Her other options for quality conversation consisted of a long line of acquaintances and party friends but most of them worked or had some sort of occupation in the days. She was the only one free on a Tuesday. She wouldn't want to tell them how troubled she was, anyway; she had a reputation to maintain.
She was bored and had a harrowing suspicion that married life would be more isolated and lackluster than it was now. Jason lived in a new, exclusive gated community and that was where she would move to after they were married. There were only five other houses on the compound and three of them were unoccupied. She would be practically alone there during the day.
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