The Henson Brothers: Two Complete Novels

by Girard, Dara

  "I would say my shopping is a result of happiness rather than the direct cause of it."

  "I see." He dropped his voice to a mocking ominous tone. "The ex's revenge. There is no better way to vex an ex than to be happy."

  "I can assure you that trying to irritate Timothy is not a source of happiness for me. Although I would agree that showing your ex you are happy without them is good revenge."

  He said nothing for a few blocks, then, "So you're truly over him?"

  "Yes, and I have been for a long time."

  He read the label on the bag. "So you and the bully made up?"

  "Yes."

  "Am I looking at a June bride?"

  "I don't think he's interested in marriage anymore. It's all right with me. I've done it before."

  "If you want—"

  "After all we've been through, I don't want something else to argue about."

  "How do you know it's not something he wants?"

  "He would have told me." The car stopped in front of her building. "Don't worry about me."

  Kevin sighed. "Easier said than done."

  She kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks for everything." She stepped out.

  * * *

  Cassie gasped when she saw a bouquet of yellow roses lying in front of Drake's door.

  She cautiously picked them up and saw her name typed on a card. Could Drake have sent them? She frowned. He had never given her flowers before. She went inside and placed them on the counter. They looked so harmless, why did they fill her with such dread?

  "Did you send me flowers?" she asked when Drake arrived home.

  "No, why?"

  "Because these were delivered to me today." She held up the bouquet. "Perhaps Timothy sent them."

  He took the roses and examined them. "No, he wouldn't risk his life to send you roses."

  She looked at him, alarmed. "What are you talking about?"

  He put the roses down, choosing not to explain his encounter with Timothy. "Who else do you think they might be from?"

  She chewed her lower lip. "A number of people."

  "A number of people who want to scare you?"

  "How do you know they are meant to scare me?"

  "Cassie, there's no signature or note. This person wants to remain anonymous. Why? They send them to you at your boyfriend's place. That means they know where you are. Something is not right. Has anything else happened that seemed odd?"

  "Strange phone calls."

  He took a deep breath, trying to cool his temper. "Why didn't you tell me about this?"

  "It seemed harmless," she said, defensive.

  "Well, now it's a concern." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a cigarette. "I should have listened to Mr. Gianolo more closely," he said, annoyed with himself.

  "Why?"

  He lit the cigarette and inhaled. "Because he was worried about one of your admirers. We have to figure out who sent these flowers."

  Drake's commanding presence pushed aside her feelings of dread. He was so safe and comfortable. It seemed so silly to worry about flowers. "I've got a surprise for you."

  "I'm not sure I like surprises."

  "You'll like this one."

  "Can't it wait until we..." His voice trailed off when she pulled out her nightgown.

  She wrapped the soft silk around his neck. "I believe the answer is no."

  * * *

  Cedric glanced at the box in his hand as he waited near the front of the restaurant. He hadn't bought her something because he liked her, he reminded himself. It was the holidays and it seemed like a nice thing to do, that's all. She'd been nice to him and she wasn't so bad when she got off her pedestal every once in a while. She probably hadn't gotten him anything, not that he cared. He just had to make sure his gift didn't look like a real gift, just something he picked up. He was sure she would like it—a case to hold her earrings.

  He watched Pamela as she prepared to head home. She wrapped herself in an enormous coat and tied a blue cashmere scarf around herself until only her eyes showed.

  "Hey, Pamela," he called.

  She blinked at him. "Yes?"

  He shoved the gift in her hands. "I, uh, got this for you. Thought you might need it."

  Her eyes brightened as she lowered her scarf. "You got me a gift?"

  He shrugged. "It's nothing."

  "My first gift of the season." She opened the wrapping. "A makeup holder, thank you."

  Makeup holder? "You're welcome," he said casually, his heart pounding with pleasure.

  She smiled shyly. "Your gift's better than mine."

  He felt his ears grow warm. "You got me something?"

  "Yes." She pulled something from her backpack and handed him a knitted item. "It's a scarf," she said, saving him from guessing. "I notice that you never wear one and it's going to be cold."

  "Not bad." He draped it on his shoulders and the two ends fell to the ground.

  She grimaced. "It's kinda long."

  "That's okay." He wrapped it twice around his neck.

  She laughed. "You look like you're being strangled by a boa constrictor."

  "Hey, be nice. My girl gave me this scarf."

  She tilted her head to one side, her eyes twinkling. "You really see me as your girl?"

  He shrugged again, trying to look cool. "Yeah, kinda."

  She lowered her eyes. "Think we'll last?"

  "Probably not."

  "Good." She took a step closer and met his eyes. "Then there's no pressure."

  "Yeah. No pressure." He bent his head and gently kissed her. It was nice and sweet, just like her. He took her backpack and rested an arm on her shoulder. "Come on, let me take you home."

  Eric passed the new couple as they left the restaurant. He watched them for a while as they walked down the street, oblivious to the crowd that pushed past them. He shook his head, amused, and stepped inside. He found his brother ending a meeting with Lance.

  "Love is in the air for the holidays," he announced, rubbing his fogged glasses on his sleeve.

  Drake frowned. "Why do you say that? You met someone?"

  He put his glasses back on. "I see a romance blooming between Cedric and Pamela."

  Lance and Drake stared at him in disbelief. Drake said, "I urge you to get a new prescription."

  He held up his hands in surrender. "Fine, don't believe me. Although I am the reigning king of observation." He waited for Lance to leave, then asked, "Speaking of romance, when are you and Cassie getting married?"

  Drake straightened the papers on the desk. "I haven't asked her yet."

  "Why not? She said yes before."

  "I'm waiting until after I meet her parents."

  Eric rested his hands on the desk and leaned forward. "Why?"

  He didn't meet his brother's eyes. "Just because."

  Eric glanced up at the ceiling, incredulous. "You're seeking their approval, aren't you? Like some old English gentleman, you're going to ask for their blessing."

  He glanced up. "No."

  "Then ask her to marry you now. Or are you afraid that if they don't approve of you, Cassie might not want you either?"

  Drake impatiently tapped his pen against the desk. "You talk too much."

  Eric's mouth quirked with a knowing grin. "You want to make sure you can measure up."

  "Stop trying to figure me out."

  "Why? It's fun." His smile widened. "You're in love with Cassie. Go ahead and deny it I know that's part of your nature, but it's true." He lowered his voice. "The thing is she loves you too and for women that's a big deal. Stop wearing the past like a dirty cloak." He sat down and crossed his legs at the ankles. "So we were poor and sometimes did shady things. So what?"

  Drake frowned. "You did shady things. I cleaned up your mess."

  Eric sat back and adjusted his glasses. "Let's not meddle with semantics. We survived and we're successful. That's all that matters. I loved my father, but it's no secret that you did a better job than he did. Jackie and I are
fine now and it's time to be selfish. Travel, have some kids, and be happy. Live the American dream. That's why our parents brought us here."

  * * *

  Eric's words hung heavy in Drake's mind in the coming days. He pushed them away as the thoughts of a more pressing issue surfaced. A teenager who lived in his building had left the flowers for Cassie. He said a friend at school had slipped a note in his locker, asked him for a favor in exchange for a free pass. Unfortunately, Drake's search stalled after that. The teenager couldn't describe the friend and the flower shops had no information. His search for who had ordered the flowers was fruitless and that bothered him. It put him on extra alert. He barely noticed the joggers on the Mall, the sound of pebbles under his feet, or the feel of a warm December.

  Cassie stopped walking and grabbed his hand. "Drake, look!"

  Up in the sky toward the monument, which stood tall and white in the strawberry sky, a series of kites swayed in a dizzying dance.

  She sighed happily. "I love kites."

  Drake stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist; she leaned against him and they both watched the kites fly. He smiled to himself, amazed at how far they had come. A few weeks ago she would never have allowed him to hold her like this where everyone could see, and now it was the most natural thing in the world. He rested his chin on her head. She was his for good now and once he'd met her parents they would be married.

  "Let's buy some pinwheels," she said.

  "That's only for the summer."

  "So is kite flying. Come on. I know of a place."

  Cassie found a party store nearby and bought pinwheels that she later taped to the railing of his balcony. They watched them spin in the evening breeze before they went to bed.

  * * *

  He woke to the smell of home—a quick Caribbean breeze, the sway of palm trees, the hoarse sound of a bus rumbling past, the loud squeaky call of a vervain darting through the sky.

  Drake opened his eyes, staring around his room. Where had those wayward thoughts come from? Was it his talk with Eric about his parents? No, couldn't be. He glanced beside him and saw that the space next to him was empty. He stood and opened the door, and again the smell of home captured him in a warm embrace. He heard the sizzling of fish and the clank of utensils against a pot.

  "Sit down," Cassie told him as he entered the kitchen. "I'll be done in a—hey!" she cried as he bumped her aside with his hip.

  "Is this ackee and saltfish? My mother used to make this for me when I was a boy." He bent over and inhaled the scent. His eyes trailed to another pan. "And callaloo and dumplings." He kissed her on the cheek. "Boonoonoonoos!"

  She kissed her teeth. "Come, nuh, man, you haven't tasted it yet."

  He grabbed some pineapple juice from the fridge. "Come on, let's eat."

  They filled their plates and ate in the breakfast nook listening to the traffic below. He wanted to ask her to marry him, but his lips wouldn't open. He wanted her to be sure. Wanted to see how she'd respond if he was brusque with her mother or rude to her father. He'd try not to be but sometimes...

  "You don't like it?" Cassie asked, worried.

  "I wouldn't be eating it if I didn't like it."

  "Then why the frown?"

  He pushed food around on his plate. "Just thinking."

  She placed her fork down and rested her arms on the table. "Are you ready to meet my parents?"

  "Sure."

  "You don't have to if you don't want to."

  His gaze grew intense, full of suspicion. "Don't you want me to meet them?"

  "Of course, it's just... how should I introduce you?"

  "As your boyfriend. What else?"

  A fiancé perhaps? Cassie sighed. Maybe she had blown it, he had become accustomed to what they had now and didn't want anything more. She had lost her allure. She rested her chin in her hands. At least he had figured it out before they were married.

  The next day she didn't care. She had to be in a nightmare. A terrible, horrible, never-ending, heart-crushing nightmare. Cassie stared at the new steel-gray weigh scale as if she were confronting the magic mirror, which was showing her she was the fattest of them all. She'd lost five pounds. Five pounds! All her work for a lousy five pounds. All that nonsense of feeling lighter and looking better had been in her head. Now she would see her mother again and face her disappointment. She felt like wringing Drake's neck. He had the misfortune to walk into the bathroom right then.

  He grinned at her. "Good morning."

  "Don't good morning me," she snapped.

  He glanced at the scale and scowled. "Get off that damn thing."

  She pointed to it. "Five pounds."

  "What?"

  "This damn thing says I've lost five pounds."

  "Hell, it talks?" He pushed her aside and stood on the scale. "Hmm," he said when it remained silent. "It must only work for you."

  She looked down at his weight and groaned. "With a little work, I could weigh as much as you do."

  His arms circled her waist. "Do you want to start right now?"

  She pushed away from him. "No."

  "We have to have those kids sometime."

  "Right. Then the place will be filled with diaper bins."

  "Toys," he challenged.

  "The sound of banging pots."

  "Songs from Sesame Street."

  She folded her arms. "Crying."

  He did the same. "Laughing."

  "Shouting."

  "Singing."

  She couldn't help smiling. "Now who's being the romantic?"

  He turned to the mirror and picked up his razor. "You must be rubbing off on me. We have to think of names."

  She felt honored that he wanted her to be the mother of his children, but wondered if it would be without the benefit of a ring. She turned away from him. "We're seeing my mother today."

  "I know it will be fine."

  "Said Custer to his troops; said the captain of the Titanic. "

  "It will be fine," he repeated slowly.

  She shrugged, suddenly nonchalant. "I know."

  "How do you know?"

  She winked at his reflection. "Because I have you."

  A few hours later Drake wished he had her confidence. His stomach was in knots. Today was the ultimate test—one he could not fail. The mother of all proving grounds. He had to impress Cassie's parents.

  "Stop fiddling with your tie," Cassie whispered as they walked up to her parents' home.

  He glanced down, surprised. "Didn't realize I was."

  "There's no reason to be nervous," she assured him, her classy sling-back heels clicking against the walkway. "Apoplectic perhaps, but not nervous."

  "I'm fine."

  She didn't believe him. He had taken special care with his clothes, ironing any wrinkle or crease in his dark trousers and gray shirt, polishing his shoes until they gleamed. If she had just met him she would have thought him vain, but she knew that wasn't the case.

  He stopped and stared up at the house. "I thought you said your family was middle class."

  "It is."

  "Your house has pillars," he said, unable to disguise his awe.

  She nudged him forward. "It's a regular colonial."

  "With tall, white pillars like you see at the White House." And numerous windows, a manicured lawn, and a cobblestone walkway lined with lights.

  "This isn't the White House. It just looks big, it's really average." She noticed him tugging on his tie again and grabbed his hand. "Drake, you look great and I don't care what my parents think. I'm glad you're in my life."

  He blinked. "Thanks, but I already knew that."

  She dropped his hand. "You are so unromantic. You could have pretended to be impressed."

  "Forgive me. I'll try to swoon once the night is over." He lifted his hand to knock. "A butler better not answer the door."

  The door swung open and a woman in a maid uniform appeared. Drake shot her a glance. Cassie grinned sheepishly. "She's new."
>
  The maid led them into the formal living room. On an elaborate white sofa sat Angela Graham. Near the bar Oscar Graham fixed himself a drink.

  "It's about time you two got here," Angela said, uncrossing silk-clad legs.

  Drake watched Cassie greet her parents. It seemed almost appropriate that Cassie's mother was wearing a leopard-print blouse, a black skirt, and earrings that looked like spider webs. She was a predator and when she smiled at him, he could envision teeth sinking into his neck. The challenge to outwit her consumed him.

  "Did you find the place okay?"

  Drake transferred his gaze to the quiet man in a tweed jacket and gray trousers, shaking a brandy snifter. "It was fine," he said.

  Cassie spoke up. "Dad, I was with him, remember?"

  "Oh, right. Of course."

  "You have a beautiful home here, Mrs. Graham," Drake said. "I see where Cassie gets her good taste."

  "Thank you. So from what part of Jamaica are you?" When he told her, she nodded in cool disdain. "Oh, yes. I could tell by the accent. How unfortunate."

  Cassie spoke up. "Mom, I think—"

  "I'm not criticizing him, Cassandra. I'm just making an observation." Angela stood and took Drake's arm. "Let's go into dinner so that you can tell me all about yourself."

  In the back of his mind a bell rang. Let the games begin.

  Chapter 16

  "I'm sorry," Drake said with regret, breaking the heavy silence that permeated their drive home.

  Cassie noted the tense lines of his jaw that the passing city lights lit up with harsh accuracy. His large hands swallowed up the steering wheel in a vicious grip. "It's all right." She patted his knee. "You tried your best."

  The simple gesture eased the tension coursing through him, but it wasn't enough. He needed something more. At the stoplight, he lit up a cigarette and angrily inhaled. "She's awful," he muttered, still shocked that such a woman existed.

  "And now she knows it. You told her so in no uncertain terms."

  He silently swore, vexed with himself. "I didn't mean to."

  "I know."

  He sighed. The evening had started out fine. He didn't mind Angela Graham turning her insolent honey-colored gaze on him and quickly exposing him for the street urchin he used to be. He wasn't bothered about the questions about his work, his parentage, or his schooling. He didn't care about the pointed remarks that smacked of prejudice. He could understand her viewpoint; those who had never been poor rarely understood what it was like and somehow thought that those in poverty deserved their fate.