Iris smiled and cooed over the baby. She held her and rocked her and told her cute stories about her mother, as if the baby understood.
***
Finally, Peter was discharged. He visited Preston every day, bringing baby Sara so that Preston could see her. Preston couldn’t hold her because his immune system was compromised by the immunosuppressant drugs he had to take to keep his body from rejecting the new kidney. But he was able to see baby Sara through the window.
Slowly but surely, life went back to normal. Mom and Dad went back to Los Angeles. Mom made frequent trips to Chicago to help take care of Preston until he was completely healed. Peter went back to Houston with baby Sara. Richard and Pru went back to their lives. And Iris continued to live with Idris, even though she went to Trump Tower every day to take care of Preston.
43
Summer was over and the leaves were beginning to change. The air was cooler and the humidity wasn’t as suffocating. When Iris saw Preston on the closed circuit screen, she was surprised. His quarantine period wasn’t over yet — he still had another month to remain indoors. He buzzed again, this time looking at his watch. She watched him pull out his phone and put it to his ear. She heard her phone ringing. She smiled.
“Hello,” she said sweetly.
“Wildflower, buzz me in.”
She did.
When he knocked on the door, he was soaking wet from the rain.
“I’ve been trying to reach you,” he said as he took off his hoodie.
“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked, clearing her throat.
“Yes, I’ll have what you’re having,” pointing at her cup of tea.
Iris walked into the kitchen to put a K-cup in the Keurig. She chose pomegranate tea for him. She heard Preston’s voice shouting from the living room.
“We need to talk, Iris. I know you’ve been avoiding me, lately.”
She appeared from the kitchen with a cup of tea and sat it in front of Preston.
“I’ve been a patient man, Iris. You’ve kept me waiting for over a month. I need to know, do I have a wife or not?”
She didn’t answer. She just looked at him. She wanted to say all the things he needed to hear: that she wanted him and loved him, that she was ready to come back home. She wanted to tell him that she was wrong for running and that she loved him for who he is, not what he was. But she couldn’t say those things to him. It could have been fear. Maybe it was pride. Nonetheless, she remained silent.
“Nothing? You don’t have anything to say to me, Iris?”
She shook her head.
“Okay then. I’ll file the annulment papers. You don’t have to be bothered with it.”
She didn’t understand her own silence. Why was she letting him walk out the door? This might be her only chance.
When Preston reached for the door knob, he looked back at her, but she stood there, expressionless. He twisted the knob. Still, she said nothing. Finally, he walked out.
It felt like her heart had stopped beating. No air was getting to her lungs. Her knees knocked. She shook her head trying to calm herself. She gasped to take in the air she needed to breathe. Just breathe. Breathe.
She paced the floor back and forth. What have I done? What did I just do? She stopped pacing and stood still, biting her thumbnail. She ran to the door and when she opened it, he was standing there, waiting for her. She exhaled.
“Tell me something,” she said.
“Okay.”
“Tell me what you love about me. Tell me now, without having to think about it.”
“I love how you care about people — the way you do everything for everybody else, but you don’t expect anything in return. You know my secrets and you still love me anyway. I love your smile — it starts and ends my day. I love how you make love to me, the way you hold me and call my name. I love the way your eyes light up when you see me walk into a room and the way your nose crinkles when you laugh at my jokes. I love… that you took care of me when I was ill.”
Iris smiled with warm satisfaction as he went through his list. He said everything with such care, it just rolled off his tongue like the words were just hanging there… waiting for a reason to be spoken.
“Your turn. Tell me, Iris, what you love about me, without having to think about it.”
“I love your gentle kindness and your sense of humor. I love that you have a big heart and you are so generous, especially to elderly ladies who get stuck in a crack. I love your humility and your courage. I just think you are a brilliantly brave person who stands for something, and I love spending time with you.”
“Then come home, baby. I want you with me. I need you with me. Come home.”
44
The aroma of morning drifted through the condo. Fresh coffee brewed, bread toasted, the cool moist air of the fading spring season was still crisp. The morning news show blared through the small television hanging on the wall of the breakfast nook. A knock on the door interrupted their morning routine.
Iris got up and went to open the door. On the way, she stood on the tips of her toes to kiss Preston as she walked by. She tasted coffee on his lips. When she got to the door, it was Nadine who had come bearing gifts. The concierge just sent her up. Nadine came by so often, the building staff didn’t bother announcing her anymore.
Iris’ chiffon blouse draped her pregnant belly and hid the elastic band of her pregnancy jeans. Preston cupped her belly with both hands, looking down at how much further it seemed to have protruded since last week. He placed his hand on her back as she waddled ahead of him into the living room. Nadine followed closely behind.
Iris tried not to let her discomfort show. The baby pressed against her diaphragm and bladder at the same time, so she was breathless and felt the urge to urinate all at the same time. She tried to sit on the sofa, but it was too low to squat onto without bracing herself with her hands on the cushion first. Preston assisted her until she was seated comfortably with a pillow behind her back.
“You look beautiful, Iris. Pregnancy really becomes you,” Nadine said.
“You say that almost every time you see me,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You’re beginning to sound disingenuous.”
Nadine sat the gifts on the table.
“James and I are leaving the country for several weeks. I brought these by just in case the baby was born while we were gone.”
“Thank you, Nadine.”
“Well, sweetie, I’ve got to run. Preston, take care of my friend. She’s the only one I have.”
Preston kissed Nadine on the cheek.
Iris motioned for Nadine to come close so she could hug her. She did.
After Nadine left, Preston rested Iris’ leg on his thigh, massaging her foot. Her eyes rolled back in her head and a pleasurable moan escaped. It felt so good. It was a treat. It was a nice bonus to have him pay attention to her in that way.
He got up, moved behind her, and leaned in to add pressure as he massaged her shoulders and back. She asked him to go lower, and he did. She closed her eyes, feeling the pressure release as he loosened the muscles with his firm strokes and kneading pressure.
“Should we call Peter?” Preston asked.
“I’m sure he’s sick of us thanking him over and over again.”
“This is an experience I thought I’d never have and I’m grateful to Peter for it.”
“Yeah, I know. He knows we’re grateful for his sperm so we could have a kid – a kid that will look like us.”
“I’m just so glad he offered,” Preston said.
“Me, too.”
“I got you something,” Preston said.
“What?”
“Camden texted me this little tidbit about you.”
“Uh oh…,” she said, biting her thumbnail.
Preston went into the kitchen and brought out two spoons and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Willie Nelson Peach Cobbler.
She smiled, and the baby kicked. She grabbed Preston’s hand and placed it
on her belly.
In a flash, she thought about her mother and how she said spirits are colorful. She’d say “some spirits are red. Those are the people with fiery hot tempers. And some spirits are blue, the people who are sensitive to what other people are feeling.”
Iris figured her spirit was multi-colored. In that moment, when Preston felt their baby kick and a gracious smile lit his handsome face, she felt like all the colors inside of her had boiled together and gathered as steam, evaporating into a vibrant purple mist that emanated from her. Not just any old run-of-the-mill purple. But, her own kind of purple. Just like the African violet that bends and sways with the wind so as not to be broken. The kind of purple that was both majestic as a foreground and dynamic as a background. The kind of purple that could give away some of its color and still remain brilliant.
And she was happy.
Thank You
Thank you so much for purchasing Wildflower. I hope you enjoyed the story. To get updates on future releases, receive excerpts, and win prizes join my mailing list. Write to [email protected] with “subscribe” in the subject heading. I promise I won’t spam you or share your address.
About the Author
Michele Kimbrough lives in Chicago (but cheers for the Green Bay Packers). She counts coffee as the best invention of all times. She’s formerly a military medic and nurse, paralegal, and nonprofit corporate executive. Her passion is writing and after the 2008 recession, she decided to pursue her passion. She’s written freelance articles and contributed to various blogs. Wildflower is her second novel.
You can find Michele on the web at:
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Excerpt: Prudence by Michele Kimbrough
James was one of those broad strokes in Pru’s life. She wrestled with how far she’d come in her relationship with him. In the beginning it was exciting. He moved heaven and earth for her. If he could’ve given her the moon, he would have. His emails were poetic professions of his love for her. She’d look forward to hearing his soothing voice before going to bed. She’d long for his passionate kisses and slow hand caressing her milky brown skin. She’d languish in his embrace while he took his time with her, placing her satisfaction above his. Now, a few nipple twists and a wet sloppy tongue in the ear constituted foreplay.
The alarm sounded. Pru hit the snooze button without looking at the clock. She knew she had another ten minutes to ease out of bed. She lay quietly trying to regain focus through her partially open eyes. Peering across the room, her blurred vision rested upon the easel in the corner; the painting she’d been working on sat on the weathered tripod, paint brushes still soaking in the murky water. The self-portrait was shrouded underneath a paint-stained canvas cloth. The portrait wasn’t quite right, the interpretation was off. She had trouble with self-portraits in the past so she thought she’d give it another try. This one, well, it wasn’t that the portrait didn’t look like her. It did. Her dissatisfaction was more about how she felt when she looked at it. The colors, the strokes, even the choice of paint brush made all the difference. What made it difficult for her was that she tended to be too careful, too calculated. And when her decisions weren’t the best ones, with each mistake and overcorrection, she was forced to work with the choices she had made. She couldn’t ‘unpaint’ the canvas.
She rolled over and nestled her face into James’ chest, feeling his heartbeat against her cheek. He wrapped his arm around her, clutching her shoulder to pull her closer. In only five minutes, the alarm would beep again, signaling their final warning to get out of bed. She hated parting with him even though she felt a tinge of resentment towards him. These days, her moments with James were bittersweet. She wanted him, yet, at the same time, she didn’t. The dichotomy baffled her. Nonetheless, she accepted whatever time he gave her as she always had.
The alarm blared once again from the clock radio beside her bed. She bypassed the snooze button this time, slapped her hand on the off switch and pried herself from James’ grasp. He grunted as he felt the brush of cool air replace her warm body.
“Get back in bed,” he grumbled in a husky hoarse tone.
“Come on, babe, you’ve gotta get going,” Pru insisted without looking at him.
She brushed her bangs away from her face with her fingers. She’d usually make sure he was up and getting ready before she left for her weekly tennis match with Jessica. If he was still lingering in her condo when she got back from the tennis club, she expected she’d have hell to pay for not getting him out on time. Not because James would have a problem. He preferred to spend a casual morning with Pru. It was the Hell-in-Heels that concerned her — Nadine.
She grabbed her robe from the bedside chair and slid her recently pedicured feet into her slippers. She turned around and gazed at James who pulled the covers over his eyes to block the blossoming daylight. When they met eleven years ago, his hair was thick and curly. Now it was thinning at the crown forming a small bald spot. His once jet black hair was graying slightly at the temple with speckles of gray throughout. She liked the salt and pepper look on him. He looked even more distinguished than before.
Pru made her way to the bathroom to run the water for her shower, allowing it to warm up. She stood in front of the mirror which hung over the sink that now had small spatters of toothpaste on the lower half. She reached under the sink for the Windex wipes and cleaned the mirror then looked closer at her reflection. Her brown hair with spiraled tight curls was disheveled, matted, even. I hate my hair. She thought back to earlier years when she’d awaken before James in order to freshen up, brush her hair, and even add a little gloss to her lips and a light touch of blush to her cheeks, giving her a morning glow. Now, James was lucky if she got up to brush her teeth before kissing him.
She tapped her iPod docked on the rack above the commode. A few moments later Marvin Gaye’s velvety voice was crooning Let’s Get It On. As she disrobed to step into the shower, she heard James’ footsteps thumping against the wood floor. She smiled. Ah, movement. He won’t be late again. She hoped he’d get the coffee started. Instead, he crept behind her, grabbing her breasts into the palm of his hands. His erection pressed against her back. He leaned down to kiss her neck and worked his way to her ear, whispering in tune with Marvin, “let’s get it on, sugar, let’s get it on, ooh ooh ooh”. His breath was warm and moist against her cheek. His tongue outlined her earlobe just before he planted a wet one close to but not on her ear. She pulled away.
“Come on, James. You’re going to be late.”
He grimaced and continued to caress her naked body while singing along with the Motown classic.
“Really, James. Why don’t you go start the coffee, babe?”
His advances were usually welcomed but it was more important to get him out of her condo on time. He couldn’t be late anymore. Besides, Pru was growing weary of the same old routine. Perhaps the right word to use would be bored. He didn’t excite her like he used to. Sure, he was sexy and desirable, and she mostly felt lucky that he wanted her. But something was brewing deep down in her subconscious or maybe it was in her gut or her heart; it was certainly somewhere out of reach. She couldn’t quite get to it, pull it out, or give it a name. Yet, she felt it, like the aches that came before the rain.
She managed to free herself from his grip and turned to face him. His tall frame towered over her. His deep brown eyes were piercing. It was hard for Pru to say no to him, even though she struggled with whatever was brewing down there in her gut, in her subconscious. He was handsome. Dashing, even, in a Richard Gere kind of way. His fair, nearly pale skin, which was in perfect contrast to her brown skin, was smooth and hairless. His hands were soft — softer than hers. He believed a man’s hands should be soft against a woman’s body, not calloused and rough, scratching her delicate skin.
“Just one for the road, Pru, baby?”
She smirked. He could be irresistible when he begged.
“No, James.”
She placed her hands on his chest to create distance between them.
She continued, “Will you just go make the coffee and let me take my shower? I really don’t want a replay of what happened the last time you got out of here late.”
She leaned forward on the tips of her toes to kiss him but he backed away, removing her hands from his chest with a slight shove.
“Why do you always bring up my wife?”
Always?
“You really know how to kill a moment, Pru.”
Pru rolled her eyes and stepped into the shower, sliding the door closed as he stood watching. She wasn’t going to allow him to suck her into another argument about his wife. Not today.
“Because I’m sick of it, James. All of it.”
He slid the shower door slightly, just enough to see her.
“You just won’t get it, will you? You—” he sounded exasperated. “When I’m with you, Pru, I don’t want to be reminded of my wife.”
Emphasis on wife. Once again, it was about Nadine. His firm tone resonated in the natural acoustics of the bathroom. Aretha Franklin was belting out “you make me feel like a natural woman.”
It was bad enough she had to face her guilt every time Nadine called, but to not have the support of the only other person who was as guilty as she was hard. She wanted to scream and say ‘it’s over.’ But she loved him. It was her heart that kept her with James. It was love that made her ignore her conscience. It was her guilt that made her endure Nadine’s endless abuse.
She looked over her shoulder at him. “I don’t want to be reminded of any of it, James, but I am…constantly.” She squirted body wash onto her sponge.
Before sliding the door closed again, his eyes roved the length of her medium frame. Muscular. Athletic. Her long wet hair dripped down her back as she lathered the soap on her body. He watched her hands slide in and around the slopes and curves of her body.
Wildflower Page 15
