by Tina Martin
“But, on the bright side, you don’t have much longer to go.”
“Yes, and that is the bright side. I want my body back.” Savannah glanced at her ringing phone noticing the main number for TCC on the display.
“Hello,” she answered immediately, thinking it was Harding calling.
“Hi, Savannah. It’s Phyllis. Please hold while I connect you to Dante.”
“O-okay.”
“Thanks. Just a moment.”
Savannah nervously chewed on her lip. A million things ran through her mind as she waited for Dante to come on the line – like the meeting yesterday when Tennyson had gone rogue, pretty much told the owners of the company they made a bad deal and then left early for the day without telling anyone. Was Dante disappointed? Wanted them to do further investigating? She didn’t have a clue.
“I’ll connect you now,” Phyllis came back on the line to say, then and after a few soft beeps Savannah heard Dante’s voice on the line say, “Savannah are you there?”
“Yes, Dante. I’m here.”
“Good. Sorry about the wait. I was on the other line with Emily.”
“That’s fine. What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to make you aware that Tennyson is going to be out for a while.”
Oh no, she thought. Did he get suspended? “How long is a while?” she asked.
“That, I’m not sure about.”
“Why? What happened?”
“His mother passed yesterday.”
“Oh my God!”
“Yeah, and apparently, it happened around the same time we were having the meeting yesterday. I had no idea his mother was sick. Did he happen to mention anything about her to you?”
“No. Not at all, but maybe he said something to Zoya,” Savannah said glancing up at Zoya.
“Zoya?” Dante asked.
“Yes. You know she’s been here helping me out.”
“Right. Harding told me.”
“Well, she and Tennyson have been spending some time together so—”
“Is she there with you now?”
“Yeah, she’s here.”
“Give her the phone for a minute.”
Savannah handed the phone to Zoya and whispered, “Dante wants to talk to you.”
Zoya held the phone to her ear and said, “Hey, Dante.”
“Hi, Zoya. How are you, sis?”
“I’m okay. What’s going on?”
“Savannah tells me you’ve been spending some time with Tennyson.”
“I have. What’s this about? Is he okay?”
“Well, his mother passed yesterday.” All the color drained from Zoya’s face. “What?”
“I just found out this morning. Did he talk to you about her at all?”
Zoya’s mind was spinning. She’d just met May and now she was gone.
“Zoya?”
“Ye-yeah. Tennyson told me about her. I actually met her on Sunday. She was in hospice care and—I can’t believe this. Is he okay?”
“I’m not sure. When he called me this morning, he was very short and matter-of-fact with the news. Since he trusted you enough to tell you about his mother, maybe you could check up on him.”
She’d planned on doing that, anyway. “I will.”
“Do you need his number or address?”
“No. I know where he lives.”
“I don’t know if he has friends or family in the area so let me know what happens.”
“I will. Thanks, Dante.”
“Thank you, Zoya,” he said.
Zoya handed Savannah her phone back. “This is terrible. I literally just met Miss May and now she’s gone.”
“I had no idea his mother was sick,” Savannah said. “He never shared anything about his personal life with me.”
“And he wouldn’t have with me, either, until I convinced him to.” Zoya dropped her head. “I got to go see him, Savannah. He must be a wreck.”
“Go. I’m sure he could use the support right now.”
* * *
Zoya arrived at Tennyson’s house with a bag of food. She couldn’t determine if he was home or not since he could have been parked in the garage. Still, she took the bag from the back seat and walked toward the door where she rang the bell then waited. She didn’t hear a sound, well, besides the birds singing up in the pink and white dogwood trees that divided his yard from his neighbor’s. She pushed the doorbell again, growing less hopeful that he was home and would actually answer the door. She turned the knob to find the door unlocked. Should she take it upon herself to go inside the man’s house?
She cracked the door open just enough to holler, “Tennyson are you here?”
Nothing.
She pushed the door open wider and took a few more curious steps into the foyer.
“Tennyson?”
Cautiously, she walked softly across the wooden floor feeling like she had crossed the line by inviting herself inside of his home. She continued on to the kitchen, set the bag on the counter then resumed her search for him.
So far, it didn’t appear that he was downstairs so she headed up, still calling out to him, but got nothing in return. Passing the bedrooms, she continued on to the master bedroom, surprised when she saw him sitting on the bed, just sitting there, not moving, blinking or anything.
“Tennyson?” Zoya was unsure if she should approach him.
Tennyson glanced up to see her standing in the doorway but didn’t say anything.
Zoya noticed he was dressed like he either just got home or was about to leave, only she didn’t know which. “Can I get you some water or something?”
He didn’t respond. He probably wasn’t in the mood for talking so she decided to make the decision for him.
“I’ll be right back with some water,” she said. Downstairs, she quickly put the food item she’d purchased in the refrigerator then filled a glass with ice water. She took it upstairs and placed it on the nightstand. Then she looked at him.
“I’m so sorry about your mother. I just wanted you to know that. And if you need anything, I’ll be here for you. Um…I know you probably want to be left alone so—” She reached out and patted his forearm then as she turned to walk away, he caught her hand and squeezed it. She looked at him and could see the pain in his eyes when he said, “Stay.”
He was still in possession of her hand when she sat next to him on the bed. He didn’t say anything, just held her hand and so she just sat there quietly and held his hand, happy to be of support to him.
Hours flew by.
Zoya woke up alone lying on Tennyson’s bed. The ice water she brought for him when she’d arrived was now a full glass of room temperature water that left condensation on the glass and the wooden surface of the nightstand. She stretched, irritated that she fell asleep when she was supposed to be here supporting Tennyson. Now, where was he?
“Tennyson?” she called out softly, looking around his room. She stood up and walked the hallway before taking the stairs to the lower level. She saw him sitting on the sofa in the living room – just sitting there – as he was before in the bedroom.
Zoya went to the kitchen, prepared another glass of water and placed it on the table in front of him. Then she looked at him – the stoic face that showed absolutely no emotion.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.
“No,” he replied.
“What about something to eat, Tennyson?”
“I’m not hungry.”
He sighed. Feeling like she was in the way of his grieving process, she said, “Well, I’m going to get out of your hair. If you need me for anything—”
He took her hand again and said, “Don’t leave.”
“Then what can I do to help you?” she asked pleadingly.
“Just sit here with me.”
“Okay,” Zoya said sitting next to him again while he held her hand. People grieved in different ways, she knew, and maybe this was his way – sitting quietly while thoughts of his mother
poured through his mind – the happier times when she wasn’t sick.
During this quiet time, he’d squeeze her hand now and then as if a memory was too much to bear and he needed the assurance that he wasn’t alone. After about thirty or so minutes of this, he looked at her.
She looked at him.
Their gazes held for a moment and then he said, “I’m being selfish. I know you have things you need to do.”
“I do, but they can wait.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I want to be here with you, Tennyson.”
He took the glass of water she’d placed on the table and drank it all, then set the empty glass back on the table.
“I’ll get you some more,” she said attempting to get up from the couch but he gripped her hand tighter so she couldn’t move.
“No. That was plenty.”
“Okay.”
“I wanted the burial to happen quickly, so it’s going to be tomorrow at two.”
Zoya nodded.
“Will you come with me?” he asked her.
“Sure. Yes,” she answered immediately without asking any questions. He didn’t need that right now, and she didn’t need to know why he wanted her to come along or if any of his family or friends would be there. All she knew was, he wanted her there, and so that’s where she would be.
Chapter 18
She mused over why he wanted it this way. No family, no friends – just him and her watching his mother’s casket being lowered into the ground.
“Goodbye, mother,” he said without a hint of sorrow in his voice. It almost came out like it wasn’t a final goodbye, but a goodbye like he would see her again next week. When it was over, he turned to walk away, heading for the car.
He was quiet on the way home.
So was she. She had no idea what to say. How do you console someone who doesn’t come across as needing consoling? And she knew he needed to grieve, but maybe he couldn’t do so while she was around.
When he arrived home and shut off the engine, Zoya said, “I’m going to go ahead and go.”
“Why?” he asked.
“To give you some privacy.”
“I don’t need privacy,” he told her.
“You need something.”
“Something like what?” he asked, looking curiously at her.
Zoya gave him a long look then said, “Nothing.” He buried his mother today. She didn’t want to cause him more anxiety.
“No. Tell me what that means, Zoya.”
“Tennyson, you’re not grieving. You need some time alone to process what’s happened.”
He blew a breath. Frustrated, he said, “How do you know what I need?”
“Because I’ve been with you these past couple of days and—”
“And you think you know what I’m going through because you’ve been here for two days?” he snapped. “My mother has been dying for six months. Six! I’ve been grieving.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Zoya opened the door to get out of his car and headed for her own car when she heard his car door open and close. Then she felt his arms around her.
“I don’t want you to go,” he said.
“I think I need to, Tennyson,” she said pressing the unlock button on her keychain remote.
“No, you don’t.”
Zoya tried to reach for the door handle, but he squeezed her tighter.
“Please don’t leave,” he said softly.
“Tennyson, I don’t know what you want me to do,” she said turning around to look at him. “I’ve held your hand for two days and—”
“I just need you here.”
“Then, if you want me to stay, you need to talk to me about this—about what you’re feeling. That’s the best way to help yourself.”
“Okay, I’ll do it. Whatever you want.”
Inside, he took off his suit jacket and tossed it over a chair.
“I’ll make you something to eat,” Zoya said, going straight to the kitchen where she whipped up a salad with chicken strips and pieces of bacon.
As they ate he said, “This is good.”
“Anything would be good to you right about now, Tennyson. You haven’t eaten in three days.”
He chuckled softly. “I suppose you’re right.”
She smiled.
“Thank you for everything, Zoya.”
“You’re welcome.”
Tennyson wiped his mouth, took a sip of water, then said, “It’s amazing to me how just a week and a half ago, I didn’t know you and now I feel like you’re a part of my life. I never talk to anyone about my mother, but for some reason, I felt like I could talk to you about her.”
“I’m glad I had the opportunity to meet her.”
“I’m glad you did, too.”
“Why’d you keep your struggle with her so private?”
He shrugged. “I guess you can say I’m a private person. She was that way, too.”
“But you know my brothers would’ve pretty much taken you in and supported you any way they could. They were looking for ways to help you.”
“I know. I didn’t want any help.”
“Then, why am I here?” she asked.
“Because I want you here,” he said locking eyes with her. “More like I need you here.” Tennyson wiped his mouth again and cleared his throat this time. “All that time I spent sitting with my mother, waiting for it to happen and it never did…but the one time I wasn’t there—the one time, Zoya—she died,” he said, throatily. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve—” His voice trailed off. Tears glistened in his eyes but he managed to keep them at bay and push the sadness away like men had the habit of doing. “I should’ve been there,” he said with a broken voice.
Zoya stood up to walk over to him, and when she did so, she closed her arms around him, feeling his body tremble slightly although no tears fell from his eyes. “It’s not your fault, Tennyson. You can’t blame yourself for not being there. You were there for as long as you could be and I’m sure she appreciated that. Wouldn’t you agree?”
He nodded.
“I know she knew how much you loved her.”
“Yeah,” Tennyson said.
“And I know she was proud—very proud—of the man you’ve become,” Zoya said. Lost in the moment of trying to console him, she touched his face and gently brushed her fingertips alongside his stubbled cheeks.
When he connected his eyes to hers, she smiled while watching him move closer to her until their lips collided in sweet submersion. Tennyson kissed her with need as he gripped her tight and latched onto her lips like his life depended on it. He kissed and pulled her lips inside of his mouth, tasting the goodness of her. The sweetness of her. The desire to kiss her this way matched his need for her presence here with him. He pulled her onto his lap and she automatically straddled him while he delivered a deep, thorough kiss that filled her with heated desperation – a feeling she’d only felt with him. The first time was a few days ago when he kissed her goodbye and now his thick, hot tongue was right back at it plunging and retreating into the deep recesses of her mouth drawing out those secret passions that needed awakening.
For a moment she’d forgotten where she was but she didn’t lose sight of who she was with. Who she was kissing – a connection that made her feel alive.
She pulled her mouth away from his and caught a glimpse of his face before he darted his head forward and took her mouth yet again deepening the kiss even further while squeezing her backside and pulling her body closer to his – wanting to become one with her. To be on the same wavelength as her.
“How is this possible, Zoya? How could you mean so much to me in such a short period of time? I feel like I’ve known you all my life, baby.”
“I feel the same way about you, Tennyson.”
“Yeah?” he asked, losing himself in her eyes.
“Yes.”
“Then what do we do about that?” he asked, taking a quick kiss afterward. “Huh?”
/>
“I’m not sure.”
“Spend the night with me,” he said, his words as smooth as honey.
“I can’t do that.”
“You can. You can do whatever you want.”
“Right, which is why I can’t stay and also why I shouldn’t be kissing you right now. You’re in mourning. You’re not thinking clearly.”
“I’m thinking more clearer than I have in a long time, Zoya.”
“But—”
“You want to make me beg, don’t you?” he asked her.
She giggled. “No.”
“Then stay.”
“Okay, I’ll stay,” she said.
And that’s what she did – stay. She cuddled next to him in bed, fully clothed, facing him. Her right hand was interlocked with his left while she stared into his eyes.
Tennyson smiled.
“What?” she asked.
“I was just thinking about something.”
“Tell me.”
“I was thinking how grateful I am that my mother got to meet the woman I’m going to spend the rest of my life with, and in case you were wondering, that woman is you.”
Zoya couldn’t help the blush that crept across her face. “It’s been a long day for you, Tennyson. Get some sleep.”
“I know exactly what I’m saying, Zoya. I’m going to marry you.”
“You say that like you don’t need my consent.”
“I already have your consent.”
She admired his confidence, but she was almost sure he wasn’t himself tonight. Tired herself, she smiled, wished him a good night, then fell asleep.
Chapter 19
Zoya got up from the bed, careful not to wake Tennyson. She went downstairs to prepare breakfast. While she was cooking, she called Savannah.
“Well, hey there stranger,” Savannah teased.
“Hey, Savannah. How are you?”
“I’m okay. What about you?”
“I’m fine,” Zoya responded.
“How’s life with your new roommate?”
Zoya shook her head. She could hear Savannah laughing. “I should be over there before noon, Savannah. I’m cooking breakfast for Tennyson right now.”
