A Forever Kind of Love (Kimani Romance)

by Rochon, Farrah

  “But, Coach, you can’t leave us in here. This’ll look bad to the scouts,” Pierre Jones, the centerfielder, said.

  “Maybe you should have thought about that before you decided to act like a bunch of children instead of young men on their way to college next year.” Corey bore down on them, backing them to the bench. “You think you’ll be able to get away with stunts like this at LSU, or Tulane, or Alabama?” he roared at Andre Thomas, the pitcher and best player on the team. “They’ll kick you out of there so fast you won’t know what’s hit you.”

  “I know, Coach,” Terrence said.

  “We’re sorry,” Pierre added.

  Corey knew he’d gotten his point across when they all crouched back. He noticed Andre Thomas’s chin remained defiantly stiff.

  The boy’s recalcitrance incensed Corey even further. He had no doubt Andre had been the ringleader. The kid seemed hell-bent on causing as much trouble as he could around town. He had so much potential, but was flushing it down the toilet because he was more concerned with being a knucklehead. Corey refused to sit back and watch Andre ruin his future.

  He cut another menacing glare at his players and stepped out of the holding cell. “It’s your call, Officer Gilbert.”

  Manny glanced his way, and Corey knew they were on the same wavelength.

  “Well, you know we don’t play favorites,” Manny said in his best take-no-crap police-officer voice. “Just because these guys are baseball players doesn’t mean they can get off scot-free.”

  Despite the seriousness of the situation, Corey had to bite back a laugh. He and Manny had gotten away with more than they should have back in the day. Partly because Manny’s dad had been the police chief. The entire squad used to cut them slack, especially if they were playing Kentwood or Jesuit. Nothing got in the way of a big game against a known rival.

  Jamal leaned to the side and whispered to Corey, “We’re not really leaving them in here, are we?”

  “Hell no,” Corey whispered back. “We’re in the middle of the season.

  “So, Officer Gilbert,” he called. “What’ll it be?”

  The trio of hefty ballplayers looked as if they’d shrunk five inches over the past ten minutes. They sat hunched over. Corey was pretty sure Pierre Jones was trembling.

  “They’re all still minors, right?” Manny asked.

  “Yeah,” Corey answered.

  “Since this is a first offense for all three...” Manny paused. One by one, the boys’ heads rose, as if sensing hope. “I’ll let them off with a warning. I’ll leave their punishment up to you.”

  The three collapsed with relief, glancing at each other with conspiratorial grins.

  “You three really think you just got the easier end of the bargain, don’t you?” Corey asked with deliberate softness as he stepped back into the cell. He closed the gap between them, bending down to eye level with his players before continuing. “By the end of the week, you’ll beg Officer Gilbert to let you back in here.”

  The grins vanished.

  Corey stood and jerked his head toward the open cell door. All three shot out of the cell so fast, one would have thought they were sleek marathoners instead of bulky baseball players.

  As he walked out of the cell, Manny and Jamal were both trying like hell to hold in their grins, neither doing a good job of it. Manny broke first. “Man, you learned more from Coach Edwards than I thought you did.”

  “I was channeling him for a bit there,” Corey said. He turned to Jamal. “You’ll never meet a hard-ass like our old coach.”

  “Worse than Richards back when we were at Arizona State?” Jamal asked.

  “Richards didn’t have a thing on Edwards.”

  “He was a mean SOB.” Manny shook his head.

  “But he saved my life,” Corey interjected. “If not for Edwards, I would probably be sitting in this jail, or in prison with Shawn and Stefan. I owe that old man everything.”

  “I’m glad you came back to coach.” Manny clapped him on the shoulder. “That guy they brought in after Edwards retired wasn’t worth the starched khaki pants he used to model around in.”

  “Some of the people around here wouldn’t agree with you on that one,” Corey reminded his ex-teammate. “In fact, I should probably sneak out the back door. If anyone sees me leaving here, news of my arrest will be the talk of the town by the end of the day.”

  Manny just shook his head, but didn’t refute Corey’s claim. Corey knew it was because he spoke the truth. If he hadn’t been on national television and in sports magazines, half the people in this town would have probably thought he’d been in jail instead of playing in the major league. With good reason. He was, after all, one of those Anderson boys.

  Because his eldest brother, Leon, was eight years older, he had avoided the stigma the twins had brought upon their family. Leon had been admired by many in Gauthier after he’d enlisted in the army straight out of high school, but the twins had wreaked havoc on this town. And since Corey was only a year younger than Stefan and Shawn, he’d quickly fallen in with his rowdy brothers.

  Vandalism, breaking and entering, petty larceny, even taking Assistant Principal Donaldson’s car for a joyride—he’d done it all. Now that he was back in Gauthier, Corey was determined to show the town that he’d changed.

  “Is there any paperwork to fill out?” he asked Manny.

  “I didn’t process them.”

  “Maybe they can clean up the mess they made of Donaldson’s house before he gets back,” Jamal said.

  “I’d leave it there,” Manny grunted. “Serves him right for being such an idiot.”

  “It’s been fifteen years.” Corey chuckled. “You need to let that stuff go. I have.”

  “Let it go, my ass,” Manny mumbled.

  “During our freshman year, Donaldson caught a bunch of us smoking behind the gymnasium,” Corey explained to Jamal. “He suspended us all for a week, but Manny got two weeks because he was the one who brought the cigarettes. Ever since then, the two of them have butted heads.”

  Terrence, Andre and Pierre were waiting at the booking counter. Corey got back into character as he approached the boys. “When you leave here, go straight to Donaldson’s house. I want every window spotless, and not just the ones you painted. And you all better work fast, because you don’t know what time I’ll be there to inspect. You got me?”

  Three heads bobbed in unison.

  Corey turned and nodded at Manny, flashing his friend a knowing smile before leaving the station.

  “How long you going to give them to clean the place up?” Jamal asked as they headed for their vehicles.

  Corey shrugged. “I’ll swing by sometime tomorrow. I really don’t care what they did to Donaldson’s house. Manny’s right, the guy is an idiot.”

  Jamal chuckled. “Gotta love a place where the police let you exact revenge.”

  “Don’t mistake him for being a pushover. Manny can be hard-core when he needs to be. His dad was tough. He busted me and my two brothers more times than I can count.”

  Soon after Jamal told him of his plans to move to Gauthier, Corey had clued him in on his family’s history in the town. Knowing the way folks here gossiped, Corey figured his friend would be regaled with stories of Decker Anderson’s troublemaking sons within ten minutes of his arrival anyway.

  They reached Jamal’s truck first. “So, now that you don’t have to play bad-ass baseball coach anymore, you think you can swing by and help me with some sanding? I’m trying to refinish the banister on the front staircase.”

  “Didn’t I warn you against buying that run-down house?” Corey laughed.

  Jamal—an architect by trade—had bought a fixer-upper in the old part of Gauthier. Corey had tried to talk him into buying a house in one of the newer subdivisions, but Jamal said
he hadn’t moved to a small town just to live in a house that looked as if it belonged in the city. Corey figured his friend was regretting that decision after losing his first several months in town to renovations.

  “Don’t talk about my house, man.” Jamal punched him on the shoulder. “The work is going better than I thought. You think you can lend me a hand later today?”

  An image of Mya’s distraught face flashed in his mind. Corey shook his head. “I’ll be tied up for the rest of the day. Maybe you should just get a professional over there. Why don’t you call Phil?”

  “Who’s Phil?”

  “One of the most talented home restoration specialists you’ll ever meet.” Corey pulled out his wallet and searched. “I thought I had a business card, but apparently not. Just do an internet search for Phillips’ Home Restoration.”

  “You sure this Phil is good?” Jamal asked. “I want to make sure that banister is preserved. I need this done right.”

  “Don’t worry.” Corey smiled. “You won’t be sorry with Phil.”

  They bumped fists, then Corey headed for his SUV. He’d wanted to get a couple of projects done at his own place this weekend, but it looked as though he’d have to push those to the side for now. Starting up the Escalade, Corey pulled onto the street and headed for the Dubois house.

  * * *

  Mya waited at the four-way stop sign at the corner of Water Street and Pecan Drive as a line of kids on bicycles crossed the street. A straggler pedaled up to the edge of the curb. Mya waved him along, grinning as his little legs pumped to catch up with his friends.

  She cranked up the air conditioner in Aunt Mo’s car and continued along Pecan Drive, on this all-important errand for her grandmother. The stately homes that lined the broad avenue stood like elegant Southern belles. Their well-kept yards were surrounded by short, wooden picket fences, while others had graduated to the vinyl fencing Mya would love to have installed out at her grandparents’.

  Grandma had labeled this neighborhood pretentious, based on the fact that its residents were not allowed to grow vegetables in their backyards. Mya didn’t care how uptight they were. She used to love walking through this area on her way to work at Gauthier Pharmacy and Feed Store, imagining what it must be like to live in what had seemed like mansions to her young, unworldly mind.

  Pecan Drive turned into Main Street after the intersection at Pecan and Shoal Creek Lane. As she cruised down Main, Mya was once again struck by how much everything looked the same. It was as if time had stopped.

  Main Street had always been this town’s pride and joy. Back when she’d worked here after school, every proprietor had been required to sign an agreement stating that they would paint their storefronts every year. Littering had been a dirty word, and the Gauthier police department had responded to a call for loitering just as fast as one for shoplifting.

  Mya pulled into a slanted parking spot in front of Claudette’s Beauty Parlor. Like the rest of the buildings on Main, Claudette’s looked as if it had been lifted from a painting entitled Small-Town Life.

  She headed up the wooden steps that led to the wraparound porch. The beauty shop shared a porch with Lou Cannon’s Dry Cleaning and the Main Street Sweet Shop. Across the street was the pharmacy, post office and Emile’s Restaurant, Gauthier’s version of five-star dining.

  Mya walked through the door of the beauty shop and smiled in remembrance as the familiar sounds and smells greeted her.

  “Hello, everybody,” she called.

  “Well, look who decided to step into my shop.” Claudette Robinson set down a curling iron and stepped from behind a salon chair, embracing Mya in a long hug.

  “I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk after the funeral,” Mya apologized.

  “Don’t you worry about that,” Claudette said, adding an extra squeeze before letting Mya go. “There were so many people at the house, it was impossible to visit with everybody. How is Eloise doing? Did the doctor say when she’d be out of the hospital?”

  “She should be home tomorrow. Monday at the latest,” Mya said.

  “I knew something was wrong when she didn’t show up for her hair appointment this morning, especially since she knew her new wig was in. She’s been waiting for it for over a month. Deena is finishing it up right now.”

  Mya spotted the young girl standing before the mannequin, a comb in one hand, a spray bottle in the other. She spritzed the salt-and-pepper wig and teased the tight curls out of their stubborn position.

  “She’s laid up in a hospital bed. You would think she’d have other things on her mind,” Mya said.

  “When the new wig she’s been waiting for is at my shop?” Claudette looked at her as if she were crazy. “That New York air has addled your mind, girl. I’m surprised Eloise didn’t order the paramedics to swing by on their way to the hospital.”

  “If she were conscious, believe me, she would have.” Mya laughed.

  Deena came over with her grandmother’s new wig, and Mya thanked her with a ten-dollar tip.

  “You tell Eloise I’ll try to get over to the house once they let her out of that hospital,” Claudette said. “And tell her not to worry about the meeting Monday night. I’ll make sure Margery doesn’t go overboard.”

  “You all have a deaconess board meeting?” Mya asked.

  “No, that’s on Wednesday nights,” Claudette said. “This is for the civic association. A group of us started it a couple of years ago. Your grandmother is head of the committee for the town’s 175th-year celebration. She didn’t tell you?”

  Mya shook her head. “We haven’t had much time to talk about anything outside of Granddad’s funeral.”

  Claudette’s smile sobered.

  “I’m sure she’ll appreciate you keeping Mrs. Margery in line,” Mya said. “It was good seeing you again, Claudette.”

  “You too, honey.” Claudette winked as she returned to her customer.

  Mya left the beauty shop and climbed back into the car, careful not to smash the curls as she placed the freshly styled wig on the passenger seat. She put the key in the ignition, but her hand halted when she looked up and saw the pharmacy in the rearview mirror. She got out of the car and, with a quick glance from left to right, crossed the two-way street and took a step back in time.

  The same bell that had hung above the door when she’d last walked out of it chimed Mya’s entrance into the pharmacy. She’d worked the entire summer before her senior year, her plans for leaving Gauthier already firm in her mind. She’d saved up enough for first and last month’s rent and a plane ticket out of town.

  The store hadn’t changed a bit. Next to the door was a hat and umbrella stand, and directly across from the front entrance was a display of the handmade soaps and lotions Mrs. Landry, the pharmacist’s wife, made in her kitchen. Mya picked up four bars of lemon verbena. God, that scent brought back memories.

  She strolled down the aisle, picking up a few toiletries, extra moisturizer and a razor. Since she’d planned to be in Gauthier for only a couple of days she hadn’t bothered to bring most of this stuff.

  Mya took her purchases to the counter, but stopped short as she noticed the woman standing behind the counter.

  “Shelly?” Mya asked with a tentative step forward.

  The woman blinked several times. “Mya? Oh, my goodness. How are you, girl?”

  “I’m fine,” Mya said, trying to suppress the shock in her voice. “How are you doing?” Though what she really wanted to ask was “What are you doing?”

  Shelly Hunt had graduated valedictorian of their high school class. Granted, it was a class of only seventy-eight students, but even so, Shelly had been destined for great things. She’d received full-ride scholarships to several universities. What was she doing working behind the counter at the pharmacy? Unless she’d bought it? Maybe she’d bec
ome a pharmacist?

  Please, let that be the case.

  “So, did Dr. Landry finally retire?” Mya asked, placing her items on the counter.

  “Yeah, right. That man doesn’t know what retirement means.” Shelly laughed. “He’s having lunch over at Emile’s.” She rang up the soap. “I’m really sorry I couldn’t make your grandfather’s funeral yesterday. I had to take my youngest to the doctor. Turned out to be just a stomach bug, but you never know with the little ones. You have any kids?” Shelly asked.

  Mya shook her head. “Nope, it’s just me.”

  “Sometimes I wish.” Shelly grinned as she handed Mya the bag. “I have three. My oldest is trying out for the varsity baseball team, so if you talk to Corey, tell him to take it easy on my baby.”

  “I will,” Mya said. “How old is he?”

  “Almost fifteen,” Shelly answered.

  “Wow, so you were pregnant when we graduated? I had no clue.”

  “No one did, until the truth got too hard to hide.” Shelly chuckled, making a rounding motion over her belly. “I had Devon that September.”

  “All this time I thought you’d started at Dillard University the fall after we graduated,” Mya said.

  “I tried after Devon was born, but then I got pregnant with Angelica.” Shelly shrugged. “It just never worked out, and eventually they pulled the scholarship they offered me.”

  Mya’s heart lurched at the regret that flashed across Shelly’s face. “Well, you know what they say, ‘It’s never too late.’ ”

  “Yeah, right.” Shelly waved off the idea. “Can you imagine me in someone’s classroom? I’ll just make sure my little ones go on to college. Besides, Dr. Landry couldn’t run this place without me.”

  “You’re probably right. I remember how scatterbrained he could be.” They shared a laugh. “Well, it was great seeing you again, Shelly.”

  “You, too.”

  By the time she walked out of the door, Mya could hardly breathe, so haunted was she by the fate she’d managed to escape. It was a travesty that someone with so much promise could end up working as the checkout girl at a small-town pharmacy.