by Pat Simmons
She pulled away and faced him. “Being a caregiver is harder than I thought.”
“I know, and I’m on the outside looking in. Sorry I judged you.”
“It’s okay.” Tabitha shrugged, then anchored her elbows on her knees. Again, she became quiet.
“Do you realize this is the first time we’ve ever been alone...without Aunt Tweet?”
“Yeah, which proves why dating has no room on my list. I’m no longer in control of my life. My evenings and weekends are booked.”
Now she was venting. Only, he didn’t like what she was saying. Marcus had witnessed her frustrations, but hearing them tore at his heart. He sensed she needed to be cuddled and loved, so he took the liberty to guide her head back to his shoulder, then put his arm around her shoulder.
Too soon, Tabitha pulled away, stood and dusted off the back of her pants.
No! Their time to get to know each other was too short. “Then I guess we’ll have to have working lunches during the day.”
She laughed, and her killer smile reached her eyes. He got to his feet as she began to stroll away without a wave or responding to his proposal.
“Miss Knicely,” he called after her. When she whirled around, he asked, “Are you and the ladies coming later for the barbecue?”
“Yes,” she said then continued on her way.
Folding his arms, he leaned against the porch and watched her disappear through the park. It was clear they were attracted to each other physically, but it wasn’t lust as he had experienced so many times with other women in the past. This time it felt different and deeper than her outwardly beauty. Her presence, her smile, and her sass filled his heart with contentment. If Aunt Tweet was part of the package deal, he would take her too. Plus, the dog.
THE WALK DID TABITHA and Sweet Pepper good. The short visit to Marcus was even better. She returned to her house with her heart and mind playing a tug-of-war over him. She didn’t have time to date now, not that she didn’t want to, but Aunt Tweet was a handful. He had seen that firsthand.
She opened the door as Rachel was gliding down the stairs with the pure artistry of Project Runway, dressed in a romper with an airy organza see-through skirt attached at the waist. Her baby sister had a walk that turned heads—men with lusty eyes and ladies with envy. Women disliked the fact Rachel Knicely couldn’t be duplicated.
“I’m hungry and ready to go,” Rachel said.
Kym walked out of the kitchen and exchanged smirks with Tabitha. “Are we talking about barbecue or Marcus’ brother?”
Hmph. “Both. Let Demetrius decide if he’s ready for me,” Rachel boasted.
“Aren’t you and Kym leaving tonight?”
Rachel grinned and lifted an eyebrow. “Even better to leave a lasting memory.”
Shaking her head, Tabitha continued into the kitchen and put Sweet Pepper in his kennel. Sometimes she wished she had Rachel’s confidence when it came to men. Her sister knew how to play the game. For Tabitha, she didn’t want to put the energy into being the center of attention, not even some of the time.
Before they got into the car, Kym pulled Tabitha to the side. “This morning I watched Aunt Tweet read her Bible.”
“Okay.” She frowned.
“It was upside down, and she was studying it. Do you think, maybe, she can’t remember how to read?”
“It’s possible.” Tabitha nodded. “A couple of times while watching game shows, she’d ask me what they said. At first, I thought she was becoming hard of hearing, then I figured out she wasn’t understanding phrases. As her brain cells die, she’ll become more confused.”
“This is hard to watch.” Kym’s eyes teared as she twisted her lips. “Maybe I’ll look into the preventive trials—for all the other Aunt Tweets out there.”
“Sounds good.” Wrapping their arms around each other’s shoulders, they walked in sync as they had as little girls to join Aunt Tweet and Rachel in the car. After putting Marcus’ company’s address in her GPS, she was surprised they reached their destination in twelve minutes. “Wow, he does live close.”
One would think it was business as usual from the packed cars in front of Whittington Janitorial Services where the adjacent buildings lot were bare.
Tabitha felt a sense of pride for the Whittingtons’ accomplishments as single, successful Black entrepreneurs. The white stone building, bearing their name in bold maroon lettering, was massive and stretched for blocks. The space seemed overkill for the seventy workers Marcus mentioned he employed.
Getting out, they followed the smell of barbecue and trail of voices. Not surprisingly, the door was locked. Tabitha rang a doorbell. Minutes later, a young woman appeared and cracked the door open while balancing a plate in one hand. “Hi. May I help you?”
“They’re guests of mine, Casey,” Marcus said, walking up behind the woman.
“Oh, okay. Sorry, Mr. Whittington.” She turned and disappeared down the hall.
“Good afternoon, ladies.” He kissed Aunt Tweet’s cheek, then Tabitha’s. She felt the softness of his lips and closed her eyes to enjoy it. She secretly wished they had exchanged a kiss earlier, so she could enjoy that too. The more she protested a relationship between them, the more she wanted it to.
“This place is huge—and clean,” Tabitha complimented in awe as they trailed him inside.
He grunted. “We’re a cleaning company. It had better be. If my place of business isn’t sparkling, then I can’t sell my services to prospective clients.”
When they turned the corner, the business landscape changed. The party was outside in a ground level loading dock where the garage door was up for easy access. The smell of barbecue permeated throughout the well-organized warehouse.
Chairs and picnic tables were set inside the entrance for shade. Tables were laden with desserts, drinks, and barbecue. Outside in the sun, the children played in bounce houses.
“Want a tour?” he asked them.
“Food first,” Rachel mumbled. Aunt Tweet seconded it.
“You give Tabitha the tour,” Kym said as she and the others surveyed their food choices. “We skipped breakfast for this, so it’s about to go down.”
Taking her hand, he tugged her outside. Small children ran up to him for hugs or attention. Other employees waved, nodded, or saluted him with cans of soda.
“You’re well loved.” She used her hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she verified the handsomeness she’d catalogued up close and personal a few hours ago on his porch. Tabitha didn’t know what possessed her to pay him a visit earlier. Maybe it was nothing more than to be near him. His presence was like a soothing balm. She smiled to herself.
“You’re probably hungry too. Have a seat, and I’ll fix your plate. Are you a hot dog, hamburger, ribs, or chicken type of woman?” He wiggled his brow mischievously.
“I’ll let you figure me out, so choose very carefully, Mr. Whittington,” she flirted, despite knowing she shouldn’t encourage him, or her heart.
WITH PAPER PLATES AND utensils in hand, Marcus strolled in the direction of the grill. “What’s ready, Chess?”
“Chicken and hamburgers.” He wielded his barbecue tongs as if he were a master chef.
“I’ll take both on each plate.”
“Is that your lady friend?” his employee asked casually, peeping over his shoulder.
“Yes, to both.” Friends—definitely. The “his lady” part was a work in progress. Marcus smiled at the thought of him and Tabitha being a couple. He rejoined her minutes later with a full plate.
“You don’t expect me eat all of this, do you?” She blinked, then chuckled before accepting his offering.
“Whatever’s left, take back to the house.” They bowed their heads and said grace. “How’s Aunt Tweet doing after her church experience?”
“She seems to be in perfect peace, but what about you?” Her brows knitted together with concern. “Your expressions were all over the place yesterday—distracted, tormented, and confused. This m
orning—”
So she could read him. “I saw you and everything was all right in my world.” He didn’t know if that was good or bad. Feeling slightly embarrassed, he looked the other way before meeting her brown eyes again. “Was I that transparent?”
She swallowed her baked beans and nodded. “Honestly, I thought you were going to beat Aunt Tweet to the altar for prayer, but you acted as if you were scared to move.”
“I was trying my best not to—” Marcus stopped mid-sentence. Latrice was strolling carefree through the warehouse, headed outside to the patio. He hoped she wasn’t hand carrying another message from the Lord. While Vance was anchored on her hip, Little Victor was by her side. His eyes were wide with excitement when he saw the other children, then Marcus. Breaking free, the boy made a beeline to his table.
Lifting the child on his lap, he asked how he was doing and listened as he pointed to the swings. Latrice appeared moments later. “Hi, Mr. Whittington.” Was there an unspoken tension between them, or was it just him feeling uncomfortable? Whatever the vibes, now was not the time to revisit any discussion of her ex. He hugged her son one last time and set him down, then made introductions.
“Nice to meet you,” Tabitha said, unaware his employee and her boyfriend—ex-boyfriend, father of her sons, or whatever her current situation with Victor—were thorns to his side.
When Latrice and her sons strolled away, Tabitha tilted her head and studied him. “What’s bothering you?”
“You just met her.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widened, then a blank expression flashed on her face.
“Before you even think it—no, those aren’t my children. I don’t have affairs with employees. My problem with her is rescuing a damsel in distress.”
“Okay...”
“I’m not trying to brag,” he said, wiping his mouth, “but I think my brother and I do a great job of giving back to the community. We hire ex-felons—except sex offenders—and pay them more than minimum wage. We provide transportation to jobsites and offer an on-site daycare for our employees.” He paused and scrunched his nose. “Sounds like I’m boasting, huh?”
Shaking her head, Tabitha gave him a warm smile. “Sounds like you’re a great guy, but I have it on good authority that you can be a little rough around the edges.”
“Fake news.” They laughed together, and it felt good to relieve some stress. “Anyway, her boyfriend is one of those ex-felons I took under my wing. I gave him one chance after another, but the brother was unappreciative. I had to let him go.”
Tabitha bobbed her head. “I get it. So the mother of his children is mad at you about it?”
“Actually, she’s not mad at all. Last week, the dude got arrested again and is in jail. Latrice wants me to pay his bond.” He grunted. “Look at me. Do I look like a fool?”
“No. You look like a smart businessman with a kind heart. I take it you turned her down.”
He wanted to ask her, wouldn’t you? But he might not like her answer. “Yep. My decision was final, but Latrice won’t let it rest. When I heard the message about no regrets, Victor’s situation came to mind. I was sitting on that pew with a tug-of-war going on inside of me.
“If forgiving him, as the minister said yesterday, means helping him one last time, I’d rather look the other way. But the message was like a screwdriver drilling deeper into my psyche. It messed me up! God wants me to forgive seventy times seven, or seven times seventy? Whatever the formula, same result, and it worried me. I couldn’t wait for the sermon to end and to get out of there. That didn’t help because even there, it seemed like the preacher’s voice followed me from room to room. My parents didn’t raise any fools.” He swiped his bottled water and took a swig.
“Does helping someone make us a fool? I signed up to be my aunt’s caregiver, not knowing what I was in for—not really.” Tabitha sighed. “But here I am. My life and my sisters’ lives are on hold as long as Aunt Tweet is alive, which I hope is a long time,” she was quick to say. “Sometimes I go to bed so exhausted. I’ve become a light sleeper, listening for any movement from her room. Now, I notice her hygiene isn’t the best, so I’m helping her with bathing. I tell myself it’s a pleasure to take care of her as she was always there for us.”
She paused and looked over her shoulder. “Sometimes I don’t have any pleasure in doing certain tasks.” Suddenly, the weight on her shoulders seemed to reappear.
“You’re one special woman that I admire.” When she was about to refute his accolades, he held up his hand to stop her. “I know you do what you do for your aunt because you love her. I would do the same for my parents, but Victor is no blood relation to me, so I’m off the hook.”
Without thinking, he reached for Tabitha’s hands, which were sticky with barbecue sauce and wiped her fingers, then held them secure in his. “I know God was talking to me,” he said, confiding in her rather than his normal confidant—Demetrius.
“How?” she asked softly.
“Good question.” Gathering his thoughts, Marcus glanced away and spied his brother checking out Rachel from afar. He smirked. The Knicely sisters were temptresses without a clue—or maybe in Rachel’s case, she was very much aware of her lure. He turned back to his favorite Knicely woman.
“I dreamed I was drowning, calling for help, and a big fish rescued me. When I woke up from the nightmare, God whispered, ‘Read Jonah.’ I grabbed my phone, Googled the book and read all four chapters. Basically, Jonah kept running away from something God wanted him to do.”
Marcus closed his eyes briefly, then opened them. “I feel like I’m giving up my will and being made a fool of to help out another fool—Victor.”
“Maybe it’s not about Victor, but Latrice and their children.” She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve only started to go back to church, because of my aunt.” She twisted her lips. “I wish the Lord would talk to me like that.”
Tabitha bowed her head and fumbled with a napkin, then she met his eyes again. “I’m ashamed to say a few times I’ve wondered if Aunt Tweet would be better off dead. Please don’t judge me because I quickly repented. I don’t want her to die, but despite it being me and my two sisters, I feel alone.”
“I was hoping I was easing some of that burden.” He squeezed her hand and then brought it to his lips. He couldn’t wait to kiss her, not because of lust, but comfort, maybe to both of them.
She blushed. “You are, but I feel it’s so unfair to you.”
“Aunt Tweet gives me a reason to spend time with you. Otherwise, we might have never crossed paths.”
“Well, this isn’t about us,” she reminded him. “There must be a reason God wants Victor out of jail. If you can swing his bail, do it. Family is everything to me. I’m sure those little boys will thank you later. If for no other reason, do it so you can sleep at night.” She stood and gathered their discarded plates and cups. “We’d better head back. My sisters have already given me a half-hour respite.”
“What about the tour?”
“I’ll come back—promise.” She smiled.
He remained quiet while he processed her words, basically heaping on the guilt God was putting on him. When they walked back into the warehouse, they were surprised to see children gathered around Aunt Tweet.
“They got her to read them a story.” He chuckled. “They love story time when I come to visit.”
Tabitha stopped him. “No, her Alzheimer’s is preventing her from recognizing words.”
“She’s pulling it off.” Taking her hand, they slowly approached. Even though Aunt Tweet had an opened storybook on her lap, the tale she was weaving wasn’t coming from it.
“The little boys and girls had a contest to see who could whistle the loudest and longest,” Aunt Tweet said.
“Who won?” Gregory Harvey waved his hand in the air. He was the five-year-old son of a new employee.
“I did.” Aunt Tweet’s eyes sparkled as her audience laughed.
“They would whistle after they’
d done their schoolwork, or I would keep them after school.” She nodded.
“Every day, I’m learning more about my aunt’s life—the younger years,” she added. “Thank you for the food and company. I need to get back home, so my sisters can pack for their flight.”
Now? Marcus didn’t want to see her go. He wrapped her in his arms and gave her a hug. He stepped back, realizing his actions had shocked her.
“What was that for?” Her smile melted his heart.
“I needed that.” He winked, then escorted them to their car. Watching them drive off, he knew eventually he was going to have to forgive Victor’s behavior yet again, and he may not get a “thank you” for it.
Chapter 20
T
he next morning, Tabitha’s body refused to move. She was tired after a long weekend with her sisters. After taking them to the airport for their late flights, she returned home and helped her aunt get ready for bed before she crawled in herself.
Rolling out of bed, Tabitha dragged her body across the hall. She heard a light snore, so she returned to her room, and rushed through a shower. Next, she gave Aunt Tweet the sponge bath that was due the previous night. Stepping back, Tabitha admired her handiwork after dressing her aunt who looked polished, minus the big floppy red hat. Remembering Sweet Pepper, she hurried back downstairs to let him out to potty.
How did working mothers do this day in and out? she wondered while preparing a quick breakfast. And if they were single moms, they deserved an award. She had one elderly great-aunt, yet she woke up exhausted, trying to remember to do mundane tasks. Half an hour later, the dog was in his kennel, her aunt was color coordinated and Tabitha opened the door.
Marcus startled her. He was leaning against his car with his ankles crossed and holding a flower. Her morning had just gotten better. He pushed off the hood and took long strides her way.
“Morning.” She stared at his five o’clock shadow, which had thickened. She yearned to feel its texture, but denied herself the temptation. “What are you doing here?”
