For Your Love

by Beverly Jenkins

  “Not really. This is how our communities functioned during segregation. Everything needed to be on-­site because we weren’t allowed access anywhere. But in truth we’re no different from all small towns. The only thing we don’t have anymore is our own post office. It used to operate out of a dugout.”

  “What’s a dugout?”

  “A place dug out of the ground on the side of a hill. The original Dusters lived in them the first few years, after founding Henry Adams.”

  “What?”

  As they drove back to the Power Plant, Trent gave Bobby a quick history lesson. When he’d finished, Bobby shook his head. “I don’t know if I could’ve lived in a place underground.”

  “Many of the Dusters said they preferred living underground in Kansas to dying aboveground in the places they moved from. It was pretty terrible in the South back then.”

  “Where’s the post office now?”

  “Franklin.”

  “Can I ask you something? If it’s too personal you don’t have to answer.”

  “Okay.”

  “What made you decide to marry your wife?”

  That surprised him. “I wanted her to be with me for the rest of my life.”

  “You didn’t have to marry her to do that, though, did you?”

  “No, but for me it was about making that public statement. I wanted the world to know that she held my heart. So to do that we had the wedding, said the vows, signed the papers. Family and friends were there to bear witness. If I could’ve gotten a bullhorn and stood on top of the Empire State Building to let ­people know how much I love her, I would’ve.” He glanced at Bobby. “Marrying her was also a way to ensure our sons’ futures. If I drop dead tomorrow, I know my boys will get all the financial benefits they’re entitled to because their mother and I are marred in the eyes of the law.”

  He fell silent, giving Bobby time to process his words before asking, “You thinking about marrying somebody?”

  Bobby cracked a smile. “Yeah.”

  “If I can help, let me know.”

  “I will, but can you keep it to yourself for now? I want to think about it some more.”

  “No problem.”

  “Thanks.”

  Trent was pleased that the young man was contemplating making the ultimate commitment. Watching the way he and Kelly interacted, he could see how much they cared for each other, and there was no doubt that Bobby truly loved the twins. The ­people of Henry Adams would love to bear witness at another wedding, especially one that wouldn’t involve Trent’s crazy relatives, the Oklahoma Julys.

  For the rest of the day, Bobby thought about Trent’s response. There was no question that he loved Kiki and wanted to be with her forever, but would it change them? He knew ­couples back home whose relationships had changed in every way once they got married. Some of the guys chafed at the idea that they couldn’t play around anymore, so they did it on the down-­low. Some of the girls got real bossy and started acting like they’d been magically changed into the guy’s mama, dictating who they could hang with, where they could go, and what time they had to be home. He didn’t see Kiki turning crazy as a result of a ring, but it was something to consider. Or was it? She’d never cheated on him as far as he knew, and yeah, he’d slipped a ­couple of times—­that’s what guys did—­but he hadn’t since the pregnancy, and certainly not after the twins were born. He had no plans to go down that road again.

  Trent’s words echoed in his head. If I could’ve gotten a bullhorn and stood on top of the Empire State Building to let ­people know how much I love her, I would’ve. Truthfully, that was how Bobby felt.

  He watched Kiki now as she sat on the couch, using a yellow legal pad to compile the list of supplies she’d be ordering to get her hair place up and running. Ms. Bernadine and the other ladies decided she could use one of the large metal storage units behind the rec center as her place of operation temporarily, until a permanent location could be built in the spring. She was ecstatic, and he was happy for her.

  She’d hung with him through so much over the years: the gang, the struggle to make ends meet, the daily grind of being poor. Because of her love for him, she’d been kicked out of the house by her mother and stopped going to church, yet she’d never once complained—­about anything. Something else Trent said right after they met came to mind: A man is only as strong as the woman who holds him. Because of Kiki, Bobby was the strongest man he knew. It was time to honor that by letting the world know.

  Entering the Dog that evening, Bernadine spotted Diane and Rance at a booth. Before joining them, she took a moment to speak privately with Rocky and Mal in his office, letting them know of the plan she’d put together with Kyle Dalton.

  “What time is Kyle coming?” Rocky asked, once Bernadine shared the details.

  “He said no later than seven, and it’s almost quarter of now.”

  Mal chuckled. “Never been part of a superspy mission before, Bernadine. Remind me to stay on your good side.”

  “Let’s just hope it works.”

  Upon joining Diane and Rance, she asked him. “Did you find a place to stay?”

  “I did,” he replied. “Definitely not a five-­star, but it’ll work for the short time I’ll be here.”

  Diane’s jaw dropped. “Short? I thought you were staying until New Year’s Day.”

  He shook his head. “No. I have to be in London the day after tomorrow. I’ll be flying out tomorrow afternoon. I’m sorry, darling.”

  Never to be heard from again, Bernadine thought to herself. Learning Diane was an unemployed custodian and not Bernadine’s vice president meant he’d be moving on.

  Rocky approached the table. “Hi Diane. Good to see you.” She nodded a greeting to Rance, who took one look at her beauty and stared with wide eyes.

  He instantly thrust out his hand. “Rance Gordon.”

  She didn’t offer hers. “Hi. Rocky. Nice to meet you. Take a moment to look over the menus, and I’ll be right back.”

  Staring after her, Rance said, “This little place is filled with beautiful women.”

  Diane tittered.

  Bernadine didn’t.

  Kyle Dalton entered the Dog a few minutes later and took a seat on the far side of the room. He met Bernadine’s eyes briefly. He glanced at Rance as if in passing, but she saw him take a good look before greeting Mal, who’d come to his table to take his order.

  “So, what’s happening in London, Rance?” she asked casually, looking over the menu.

  “My partners are meeting with some men from Helsinki about a hotel complex slated to be built in Dubai.”

  “Sounds exciting.”

  “More like routine, but they need my expertise, which is why I have to go.”

  Diane pouted prettily. “I was looking forward to you being with me for Christmas.”

  He leaned over and placed a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll be back just as soon as I can. This meeting shouldn’t take more than a day or two. I’ll make sure I call.”

  “You’d better.”

  Rocky came back a few minutes later to take their order, and after she left again, he asked Bernadine, “How in the world did you wind up owning the town?” Bernadine saw no harm in telling the story.

  “And you brought in at-­risk kids?” he asked at one point.

  “Yes.”

  “How noble. You must’ve had some divorce settlement. What business is your ex-­husband in?”

  “Oil,” Diane volunteered.

  Rocky returned with their plates, and they began their meal. While they ate, Diane asked Rance about his travels. To hear him tell it, he’d been all over the world, dispensing venture capital like Santa delivering toys. He regaled her with a list of the five-­star hotels he’d supposedly stayed in: the Ritz-­Carlton in Hong Kong, the Nam Hai in Vietnam, and the Amankora in B
hutan.

  “You ever stayed at any of those places?” Diane asked Bernadine.

  She had, but she shook her head. “No. Way too rich for my blood.”

  “I’m sure you can afford to stay wherever you want,” Rance countered smoothly. “Are you involved with anyone? Gorgeous woman like yourself probably has to beat the men off with your Hermès bag.”

  Again it was Diane who answered. “She’s hooked up with that guy over there.” She pointed out Mal.

  “Really?” The look on Rance’s face said he found Mal lacking.

  And so it went, him trying to find out just how much money she had, if she and Mal were serious so he could ascertain his chances of getting his hands on her wallet, and her politely changing the subject.

  By the end of the meal she couldn’t wait to be rid of them both. Finally Diane said, “Honey, we need to get you back to your hotel.”

  “I doubt it should be called that, but I agree. I need to make some calls to my office.”

  They stood and put on their coats.

  “Have a good evening, Bernadine,” Rance said.

  “You, too.”

  Diane smiled. “Don’t wait up.”

  Bernadine didn’t reply, but inwardly wondered how her sister could be so incredibly clueless. She might not consider herself vulnerable—­but Bernadine did and Rance certainly did, too.

  Once they’d gone, she glanced out of the window beside the booth, watching them drive off. Satisfied they wouldn’t be returning, she looked over at Kyle. He stood and, after grabbing his coat, walked to her table. In his hand was one of the Dog’s large, clean linen napkins. Using the napkin, he carefully picked up Rance’s silverware and glass, wrapped them in the napkin, and placed them in a brown paper bag he took from his pocket. After putting on his coat, he gave her a wink and made his way to the exit.

  Mal came to the booth. “Do you really think that fancy-­pants is wanted?”

  “If not, I’ll eat my hat.”

  “Great plan.”

  “I think so too, if I must say so myself. Now, I’m going to go home and wait for Kyle to call. With any luck it shouldn’t be too long.”

  “Let me know as soon as you hear anything, Ms. Mastermind.”

  “Will do.” She gave him a quick kiss and headed to her truck.

  Driving home, she didn’t feel guilty in the least for what she’d set in motion. Rance Gordon, for sure not his real name, was wanted for something, somewhere, and it wouldn’t be for jaywalking. She knew she was right because after her divorce, she’d done a fair amount of traveling both domestically and abroad and no matter her destination there were men both young and old waiting to target her as prey. It got to the point where she could pick them out from across a room, along a stretch of beach, or in a hotel lobby. She’d never said anything to Diane about it because there’d never been a need.

  Now those experiences had come in handy. Rance was wanted, more than likely for fraud, and with the help of Kyle’s FBI fingerprint databases, it would be proven. Diane was going to throw a fit when her so-­called venture capitalist lover was picked up and hauled off to the pokey, but she’d get over it. And with him out of her life, she could concentrate on finding a damn job.

  Two hours later, she got a text from Kyle. THK U! Bringing yr sister home. B there shortly.

  “Yes!” She threw a fist pump and dashed off a short text to Mal. After putting her robe on over her pajamas, she hurried downstairs to wait.

  She didn’t have to wait long. When she opened the door, the crying Diane was hysterical. “Oh, Bernie. We have to get Rance a lawyer. He’s been arrested!”

  “Really? Hi, Kyle.”

  “Hi, Ms. Brown.”

  “They’re taking him to jail. I need you to call somebody.”

  “I’m sure he and his partners can take care of it.” She focused on Kyle again. “How many warrants?”

  “Ten.”

  She froze. “That many?”

  “Fraud, identity theft, larceny, bigamy—­and that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Real name’s Gordon Macy, by the way. Got a ­couple of hits on Interpol’s database, too. We’re waiting for them to get back to us.”

  Diane stared between the two of them, and then, as if a lightbulb had switched on in her head, she yelled at Bernadine, “You did this!”

  “Guilty, just like Macy is. I knew he was up to no good the minute he walked into my office.”

  “How could you!”

  “Have you not been listening? The man’s a criminal, girl!”

  “It’s a mistake!”

  Kyle took that as his cue to leave. “I’m heading back to the office. Thanks for your help, Ms. Brown.”

  “Anytime, Kyle, and thanks for yours.”

  His next words were directed at Diane. “Ms. Willis, we’ll likely need to interview you as Mr. Macy’s case goes forward. I’d advise you not to leave town.”

  Eyes wide, she nodded.

  He inclined his head and left.

  Standing at the closed door, Bernadine eyed her sister’s tears. Crystal stood on the stairs, looking confused, but Bernadine ignored her for the moment. “Di, I’m not going to apologize for trying to keep you safe.”

  “You just don’t want me to be happy, do you!”

  She didn’t respond. With any luck, by morning Diane would realize she’d been bamboozled and step back into the real world with the rest of humanity. “You should go on to bed and try to get some sleep. Things will be clearer in the morning.”

  “I hate you!”

  Bernadine sighed.

  Sobbing, Diane rushed off to her room. Saddened by her attitude, Bernadine raised her gaze to Crystal, who asked, “What the heck is going on?”

  After she’d filled Crystal in on all the sordid details, Bernadine turned out the lights and climbed the stairs to her room. Once there, she booted up her laptop, booked the trip to Key West for Mal and herself, and crawled into bed.

  At breakfast the following morning, Diane entered the kitchen and sat down without a word. Her eyes were red and puffy, and the anger on her face was plain. Bernadine and Crystal were in the midst of the meal. They shared gazes, and Crystal rolled her eyes.

  “Morning, Di,” Bernadine said.

  Diane cut her sister a nasty look but didn’t speak. Instead she reached for the bowl of eggs.

  “Whoa, whoa. You don’t come to my table and eat my food and not speak. Who do you think you are?”

  Crystal chose that moment to get to her feet. “I’m going to meet Eli for school.” She gave Bernadine a parting kiss on the cheek. “Bye, Mom.”

  “Bye, Crys. Have a good day.”

  “You, too.” She didn’t bother saying anything to Diane.

  Once the door closed on Crystal’s exit, Bernadine said, “Now, let’s start over. Good morning, Di.” She refused to call her sister Diana, the fanciful name she’d adopted for herself.

  Seemingly cowed, she replied, “Good morning, Bernie.”

  “Better.” She felt like she was raising the gold-­weave version of Crystal all over again, except Crys had never been this out-­and-­out delusional.

  “You had no right.”

  “Really? Did you see his reaction when I told him you were a custodian?”

  “He was just surprised.”

  “Yes, he was, and after hearing the truth, had you driven him to the airport, you were never going to see him again.”

  “You don’t know that!”

  Bernadine wanted to smack her. “Do you think the FBI arrested him just for fun? He had ten warrants, Di. Ten! Stop trying to sugarcoat this. You’re smarter than that.”

  Diane looked away with tear-­filled eyes.

  Bernadine drew in a calming breath and gentled her tone. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting someone to love you. Afte
r a divorce, it’s the first thing many women look for to soothe the hurt. But this man wasn’t the one, sis.”

  The tears fell freely.

  “And I wasn’t trying to steal your joy. I was just looking out, like big sisters are supposed to do.”

  After a long silence, finally she whispered, “I know. God, I feel so stupid. Marlon and Anthony tried to warn me.”

  “You’re not stupid. You’re just trying to find your way, like everybody else. We all stumble sometimes. It’s how we learn.”

  “Just like the last time we had one of these talks, you’re a much better sister to me than I am to you.”

  Bernadine didn’t respond to that.

  “Thanks,” Diane said meeting her eyes. “And I mean that.”

  “You’re welcome. I need to get to work. Are you going to be okay?”

  She nodded. “I’m going to look for a job this morning. It’ll help take my mind off the fake Mr. Rance and get me back on track.”

  “Good idea. I’ll see you later.”

  “What kind of schooling do you have to have, to be an engineer?”

  Bobby and Trent were in the office, searching online for steeple designs for Reverend Paula’s church.

  “Depends on what kind of engineer you want to be.”

  “How many different kinds are there?”

  “Maybe thirty.”

  Bobby stared. “That many? Really?”

  “Yes. Everything from electrical and mechanical to marine and automotive.”

  “What kind are you?”

  “I have a master’s in architectural and a bachelor’s in mechanical.”

  “And the difference?”

  “Bachelor’s is a four-­year program. A master’s takes two more. Why the questions?”

  He shrugged. “I like doing the stuff you’ve been showing me, but I’m not wanting to be in school that long.”

  “Time’s going to pass anyway.”

  Bobby scanned him. “Never thought about it like that.”

  “How’s your math?”

  “One of my best subjects, when I went to school—­which in high school wasn’t a lot. Dropped out in the tenth grade. But I do like making numbers do what they do.”