Crystal smiled as Joseph, carrying a plate, closed the distance between them, her gaze softening when their eyes met. “I thought you could use something to eat before the game began,” he said in a quiet voice.
Curbing the urge to kiss him, she lowered her eyes to the plate. “Thank you.” However, she was surprised when he dipped his head and kissed her forehead.
“What do you want to drink?”
Crystal glanced up, her eyes making love to his face. “Since it’s Super Sunday I’ll have a beer.”
Joseph lifted his eyebrows a fraction. “There’re pitchers of margaritas to go along with the guacamole and salsa.”
She scrunched up her nose. “I’ll hit them up on my second helping.”
He gave her a skeptical look. “Are you certain you’re going to have room?”
Staring at her plate, Crystal measured the amount of food on her plate. “It’s not that much.” He’d served what she would normally eat during a cocktail hour at a wedding. It was enough to stave off hunger until the main meal.
Joseph’s expression indicated doubt as he returned to the bar to get a beer for Crystal.
He asked Xavier for a beer on tap as he fixed a plate for himself. Everyone rushed to claim a seat for the coin toss, Joseph handing Crystal her glass of beer and then folding his body down next to hers. Crystal hadn’t declared a favorite team because neither a Florida nor a New York team had made it to the Super Bowl, while he secretly rooted for the Atlanta Falcons.
Those having to go to work early Monday morning left after the halftime entertainment because of the three-hour time difference between the East and West Coast. Selena had filled containers with leftovers and gave each invitee a takeaway bag filled with samples of the delicious dishes.
The game resumed, going into overtime with the Falcons as Super Bowl champions, and Crystal and Joseph lingered behind to help clean up, overriding Selena’s protests when they said they didn’t have to get up early to go to traditional jobs.
Crystal drove Joseph’s Range Rover back to the Beaumont House, parking it in his assigned space. Resting her arm over the back of his seat, she angled her head. “Your bed or mine?”
Joseph’s teeth shone whitely in the diffused light coming through the windshield. “Mine.”
Leaning closer, she touched her mouth to his. “Yours it is.”
Chapter 13
Crystal wished she had the power to hold back time. Her heart felt like a stone in her chest when she closed her luggage. She was leaving Charleston and Joseph. Everything they shared since Super Bowl Sunday had become a permanent tattoo, imprinted in her memory for all time.
She had accompanied Joseph to Eagle Island to see the tea garden, totally awed by the ancient trees draped with Spanish moss. The earth over centuries was worn away under the hooves of horses, bare and booted feet, wagon wheels and automobile tires. Some of the houses appeared to be little more than shanties, lacking indoor plumbing, while others had been updated with a fresh coat of paint, new shutters and paved driveways.
Joseph had maneuvered slowly along the main road, waving out the driver’s-side window to elderly residents sitting out on their porches.
Crystal convinced him to stop when she spied an elderly woman weaving a sweetgrass basket as her Lowcountry ancestors had done for centuries. Crystal bought a picnic basket with a cross handle, a sewing basket and an exquisite cobra basket she planned to give to her mother from the weaver’s modest inventory. She knew Jasmine would exhibit the African-inspired handicrafts in the section of the gallery dedicated to African and Asian art.
If Crystal found herself awed by the untouched, primeval beauty of an island that had mostly been left to grow in wild abandonment, she experienced shock when seeing the carpet of green leaves stretching for as far as her eye could see that would eventually become a much sought after beverage drunk throughout the world.
Crystal was equally proud to give Joseph an up-close and personal view of her decorating talent when she gave him a tour of one of the completed bedrooms in the B and B. An antique reproduction of a four-poster bed with a crocheted canopy, oriental rugs, heirloom-inspired bedding, Queen Anne chairs and an ornately carved armoire with doors matching the designs on the bed’s posts beckoned you to come in and stay awhile.
He’d kept his promise to take her to the Ordinary, the popular seafood hall and oyster bar located in an old Charleston bank. She’d just swallowed an oyster when she felt suddenly ill and retreated to the ladies’ room. Crystal hadn’t wanted to believe the oyster wasn’t fresh, because she’d eaten raw oysters and clams without experiencing a reaction. She returned to their table, apologizing to Joseph, who’d ordered an assortment of cooked fish for her.
A feeling of sadness swept over her when she realized her time in Charleston was coming to an end. She’d met with Al earlier that morning for a final walk-through of what would become the Holy City’s latest luxury boutique hotels. She would miss going to the hotels whenever a furniture shipment arrived and directing the deliverymen where to position each piece.
She would also miss dropping in on Selena to watch her create beautiful edible works of art and getting down on the floor to have a tea party with Lily and her dolls. Selena had kept her updated with her collaborative enterprise unwritten by ColeDiz International Ltd., which she and Joseph projected would be fully operational in another eighteen months.
Crystal refused to dwell on missing Joseph. They’d alternated sleeping in each other’s apartments, making love with each other as if their very existence depended on it. Joseph hadn’t mentioned he loved her again since that momentous Sunday, and for that Crystal was more than grateful. Her body spoke for her whenever she experienced unbridled ecstasy in his passionate embrace.
Three days ago when she’d mentioned her departure, she felt his immediate withdrawal. They’d continued to share a bed but did not make love. Crystal knew if they continued to have sex it would make their separating more difficult and, on her part, very emotionally tolling.
The doorbell echoed throughout the apartment, startling Crystal and shattering her musings. Leaving the bedroom, she went downstairs to answer the door. Peering through the security eye, she saw the face that would haunt her dreams for a long time.
Forcing a smile, she opened the door. “Hey,” she said cheerfully. She dropped her gaze to the small shopping bag in his left hand, knowing he’d bought her a gift. They’d celebrated Valentine’s Day with a promise not to exchange gifts.
* * *
Joseph stared into the face of the woman whose very presence took him to highs and, with her imminent departure, to a low he never could’ve imagined. His impassive expression did not change or reveal what he was feeling at that moment. “May I come in?”
Crystal opened the door wider. “Of course. Please.”
He walked in, waited for Crystal to close the door and then followed her into the living room. She sat on the edge of the cushion on the love seat, while he sat inches away.
Joseph felt her tension as surely as if it were his own. He knew saying goodbye wasn’t going to be easy, but he’d given himself a pep talk before coming to her apartment. Crystal had been more than forthcoming with the terms of their short-lived liaison, so he knew he should’ve been prepared for this day. He’d told her indirectly that he loved her, and then waited for her to acknowledge what were the three most difficult words for him to say to a woman.
He handed Crystal the bag. “I got you a little something to remember your time in the Lowcountry.”
Crystal hands were trembling slightly when she reached into the bag and took out a gaily wrapped square box. Carefully she removed the shiny black-and-white-embossed paper. Biting down on her lip, she opened a black velvet box and gasped.
Joseph had given her a Cartier bracelet. The elegant eighteen-karat, oval-sha
ped bracelet was studded with ten round brilliant-cut diamonds. She barely reacted to the iconic bracelet when he picked it up and snapped it around her left wrist. Her body’s heat had barely warmed the precious metal when he picked up an ergonomic screwdriver and tightened the catch. She looked at him as if he’d taken leave of his senses when he put the screwdriver in the back pocket of his jeans.
Cupping the back of her head with one hand, he kissed her hair. “I wanted to give you this for Valentine’s Day, but I changed my mind when you reminded me you didn’t want to exchange gifts. Call me whenever you want to take it off.”
“I...” The protest died on Crystal’s tongue as she watched Joseph stand up and walk out of the living door, through the door and out of her life.
She lost track of time as she stared at the love bracelet on her wrist; the light coming in through the window shimmered off the blue-white diamonds. Reaching into the gift bag, she removed a small dust bag with which to store the bracelet and an authenticity card for appraisal. What good was the dust bag when she couldn’t remove the bracelet without the screwdriver?
“Call me whenever you want to take it off.” His parting words assaulted her like invisible missiles, eliciting a foreign emotion Crystal recognized as resentment. The arrogance Joseph had managed to repress had surfaced when he used the little screwdriver to link them together without a promise of a commitment, which he claimed he didn’t want.
She walked into the office, picked up her cell phone and tapped Joseph’s programmed number. It rang four times before going straight to voice mail. It was obvious he’d turned off his phone. She repeated the action, dialing his room number, and again she heard the automated voice asking her to leave a message.
Replacing the receiver in its cradle, she clamped her jaw tightly. If he thought her wearing his bracelet signified they were somehow connected, then he was wrong. The only connection was that as consenting adults, they’d had a brief sexual encounter. Crystal knew one day if their paths were to cross again she would not be the same person who’d come to Charleston to decorate two boutique hotels.
She picked up the phone again, asking for a bellhop to come to PH2. A quarter of an hour later, Crystal slipped behind the wheel of her SUV, turned on the engine and maneuvered out of the parking lot. The warm air coming in through the passenger-side window signaled an early spring. Tapping a button on the steering wheel, she searched the satellite radio until she found a station featuring smooth jazz.
Crystal stopped in Savannah to refuel and eat lunch and then drove nonstop to Fort Lauderdale. A smile parted her lips as she drove past the gatehouse and maneuvered down the tree-lined street leading to her town house. It felt good to be home.
A buildup of heat assailed Crystal when she walked inside. Moving quickly, she turned on the central air-conditioning to dispel the stagnant air.
Crystal mentally went through what she had to do: take a bath, check her voice mail and call and check on her mother. Hopefully Jasmine wouldn’t be in drama-queen mode. Unpacking her luggage would wait for another day. She was exhausted—physically and mentally, needing at least ten hours of uninterrupted sleep.
* * *
Crystal sat in bed, her back supported by a mound of pillows.
She checked her messages on her landline phone. There was a call from her father, who’d forgotten she would be in Charleston. There were a few other messages from telemarketers, and one from a sorority sister wishing her a happy New Year. She erased the messages, then dialed her mother’s number.
“Hi, darling,” sighed Jasmine. “I know you’re back because your house number came up on the caller ID.”
Crystal smiled. “I got in less than an hour ago.”
“When am I going to see you?”
“It’ll be either Sunday or Monday.” The gallery rarely opened on those days. And besides, Crystal needed a few days to herself to adjust to being at home before taking off again. She needed time to unpack, air out the house and dust. But most of all, she wanted to spend time alone to try and sort out how she’d fallen in love with a man who made her crave him—in and out of bed.
“Please come Sunday. I have a private showing with a client on Monday.”
“What time Sunday, Mother?”
“Meet me at Reynaldo’s at eleven-thirty. Their brunch is exceptional.”
“Don’t you want me to pick you up?” Crystal asked Jasmine.
“You know I don’t like riding in your car.”
“Okay, Mother. I’ll meet you at the restaurant.”
“I have some good news to tell you.”
Crystal shook her head. “You’re getting married?”
“Oh, heavens no! There’s no way I’m going to give up your father’s alimony payments. I’ll tell you about it when I see you.”
She knew Jasmine wouldn’t tell her no matter how much she pleaded. “Okay, Mother. I’ll see you Sunday.”
Adjusting the pillows under her head, Crystal reached over and turned off the lamp on the bedside table. Her mother always talked about not wanting to cut off her ex-husband’s alimony payments when Crystal suspected it was the intangible connection to Raleigh that Jasmine didn’t want to give up. And whenever she saw her father he would invariably ask how her mother was doing. He had to know Jasmine was doing quite well because they both lived in Miami and had on more than one occasion run into each other at social events. But because they’d come with dates they refused to acknowledge each other, and no one could be more supercilious than Jasmine Eaton.
* * *
Crystal followed the hostess to Jasmine’s table, and her mother rose to greet her. She’d always thought her mother beautiful, but as Jasmine aged she’d become even more stunning. Tall and slender with stylishly coiffed prematurely gray hair, a flawless nut-brown complexion and delicate, even features caused heads to turn whenever she walked into a room. For men it was her face and body, and for women it was to see what the art dealer was wearing.
This morning Jasmine had selected a lime-green silk blouse she’d paired with a linen gabardine suit in a becoming aubergine.
“You look beautiful, Mother,” Crystal admitted truthfully, pressing her cheek to Jasmine’s. And she did. Her mother eschewed fillers and plastic surgery, unlike many of her fiftysomething contemporaries, feared needles and going under the knife.
“So do you, darling. Please sit down.”
Jasmine stared intently at Crystal. “You’ve put on weight. Your face is fuller.”
“I got used to eating three meals a day.” She loved cooking with Joseph.
Leaning back in her chair, the older woman nodded. “You look better carrying a little more weight.”
Crystal stared at the uncut emerald studs in Jasmine’s ears. “Not too much, otherwise we’ll have to go shopping.”
Jasmine raised her water goblet in a toast. “It’s been a while since we’ve embarked on a mother–daughter shopping spree.”
“It will have to wait until I get back from New York.”
“When are you leaving?”
“Next week,” Crystal confirmed.
A slight frown appeared between Jasmine’s eyes as she sat straight. “Didn’t you tell me you weren’t—”
“I thought so, too,” Crystal interrupted, her voice lowering and softening. “I got a call last night from my client that he’d gotten verbal approval for his liquor license, and that means the project is a definite go.”
Crystal had believed she would have at least three weeks to a month before beginning her next project. She’d planned to spend a couple of weeks in Florida and another in New York reconnecting with friends before transforming the town house basement into an updated speakeasy.
“Now tell me your good news,” she said, shifting the conversation away from her.
A mysterious smile pla
yed at the corners of Jasmine’s mouth. “I’ve stopped smoking.”
The three words rendered Crystal temporarily mute. “Why?” She silently prayed her mother’s decision to give up smoking wasn’t health-related.
“Between smelling bad and having to bleach my teeth every six months, I decided enough is enough. But what I think really made me stop is the letter from you that was stuck under a drawer in my desk for almost twenty years. You wrote that I would never get to hold my grandbaby because I smoked.”
Crystal lowered her eyes. She remembered writing the letter when she was angry with her mother for smoking in her bedroom. The stench of tobacco had lingered for days. “You’re not sick, are you?”
Jasmine rested a manicured hand over her throat. “Thankfully no.”
“How did you do it?”
“Hypnosis, and I’m now wearing a patch.”
Crystal hated seeing her mother chain-smoking and even more inhaling the stale odor of tobacco whenever she hugged her. “Good for you.” She paused. “Somehow I can’t see you as a grandmother.”
“Why not?” Several diners at a nearby table turned to look at Jasmine when she raised her voice. She gave them what Crystal deemed the death stare and they quickly averted their eyes. “Why wouldn’t I want to become a grandmother?”
Crystal lifted her shoulders under the navy blue blazer she’d pulled on over an ice-blue silk blouse and gray slacks. When she’d selected her clothes earlier that morning, she’d made certain to wear long sleeves to conceal the bracelet circling her left wrist. The last thing she wanted was for her mother to interrogate her about it.
“It’s just that I never heard you speak about wanting grandchildren.”
Jasmine smiled and tiny lines fanned out around her large dark eyes. “I’m going to be fifty-four this year, and I think it’s time I acknowledge that I’m not too young to be called Grandma.”
Sweet Silver Bells Page 19
