“Well, now that you know about Ethel’s, you can make this your last meal at the Heartburn Café.” He leaned over and whispered conspiringly, “Hopefully, you won’t learn firsthand how it got the nickname.”
Monica smirked and headed for one of the many empty tables. Eli followed. Somehow, she knew he would.
He pulled out her seat and took the tray from her hands, then placed her pasta, Jell-O, and soda on the table. He walked to the trash bin and slid the tray in the collection crate on top, then came back to her table.
He sat, folded his hands together on the tabletop and asked, “So, were you born and raised in St. Louis, or did you move there?”
Monica looked up from the pasta she hadn’t yet summoned the courage to taste. “How did you know I was from St. Louis?” she asked. “I only mentioned that I worked for the state of Missouri. I never specified a city.”
He shrugged. “I heard it from someone. This is the South. Don’t think you’re gonna just walk right in here and not be talked about.”
“People are gossiping about me?”
“Not in a bad way. You’re new. People are going to talk these first few days. It’s unavoidable. So, St. Louis native?”
Monica tried to weigh the advantages and disadvantages of answering his question. How much did she want this man to know about her? Though there couldn’t be all that much harm in knowing what city she grew up in, could there?
Besides, if the rumor mill were as active as he claimed it to be, he’d probably find out whatever he wanted to know by the day’s end.
“I was born in Kansas City, but we moved to St. Louis when I was five. I’ve lived there ever since.”
“We?”
“My family and I.”
He made a circular motion with his hands, urging her on.
“What?” Monica asked.
“That’s it?” Eli asked. “Just ‘my family and I’? Do you have sisters and brothers, cousins, an old Aunt Dot you keep hidden in the back room?”
Monica stuffed her mouth with pasta to keep from smiling. She had to get rid of him fast. She could not deal with drop dead gorgeous, a good job, and a sense of humor.
“So?” he asked.
Despite her efforts to remain unaffected, Monica couldn’t stifle the amusement that tipped up the corners of her mouth. “An older brother, a younger sister, and two parents.”
“Any nieces or nephews?”
She shook her head.
Monica washed down the tasteless food with a swig of Diet Coke. “So, is there a reason you want to know this, Dr. Holmes?” she asked, dabbing her mouth with a paper napkin.
Another shrug. “Making conversation. Trying to show a little interest in a new colleague. And,” he continued, not quite looking at her. “I wanted to apologize for yesterday.” He met her gaze. “I’ve put a lot of blood, sweat, and tears into that center. Slessinger caught me off guard with the news that they’re going to shut it down.”
“Closing the Parenting Center is not a guarantee.”
He shook his head. “In a normal year the banquet brings in enough to provide first aid kits to senior citizens and maybe a few bikes at Christmastime to the local kids. And right now the people around here are already strapped. There’s no way we can raise enough to keep the Parenting Center afloat.”
Monica rolled her eyes. “Could you give this just a small chance? You’re shooting the entire project down without even trying.”
“The banquet would have to pull in, at the very least, three times more than we’ve ever raised. And that’s if we want even a laughable chance at keeping the Parenting Center open.”
“I thought that was the point of bringing us together, so we could come up with some ideas.”
“The best I can tell you is to find a lamp and hope like hell a genie pops out when you rub it.”
“Nice attitude, Doctor.” Monica jammed her fork into a piece of celery and stuffed it in her mouth.
He looked at her with a hint of mocking laughter in his eyes. “You didn’t strike me as an idealist. I always thought ER docs were more grounded.”
“I’m assuming you meant that as an insult, because I’m taking it as one.”
Monica wiped her mouth and tossed the napkin over the barely eaten pasta. She stacked the bowl of Jell-O on top, picked up both dishes and her empty cup, and rose from the table. Elijah rose, too.
“Again, Dr. Gardner, I’m sorry. My mood today has definitely been less than ideal. I don’t mean to take it out on you.” He tried to relieve her of the bowls, but Monica pulled her hands away.
“At least let me gain back some of my dignity by being a gentleman.”
She edged passed him. “Thanks, but I’ve got it.”
He stopped her forward movement with a hand to her shoulder and plucked the bowls from her hands. “This is the South,” he said. “I would be a disgrace to my forefathers if I did not assist you.”
“It’s also the twenty-first century.”
His smile was more genuine this time. “Indulge me,” he said, his voice softer than it had been a minute ago.
Monica followed him to the trash receptacles where he deposited the plastic containers.
“Why don’t you indulge me for a minute,” Monica said. “I understand your concern about the Parenting Center, you’ve worked hard for it, and you’re upset. That’s perfectly understandable. But I truly believe if we try hard enough, we can come up with something viable.”
Eli turned, and Monica could tell by the look on his face that this was going to be a battle. She cut him off before he could voice another negative thought. “Just give it a chance.”
He shook his head, a patronizing smile on his lips.
Monica nearly screamed in frustration. How was she supposed to accomplish anything if he wasn’t willing to give her even an inch? If there was an ounce of credence to his reputation of aggressively pursuing things he held near and dear to his heart, why was he being so narrow-minded about saving the Parenting Center?
Monica decided to ask him just that. “Why exactly are you being so pigheaded about this?” His head reared back as if she’d slapped him, but Monica wasn’t finished. “You’re ready to shoot down anything I say before I have the chance to say it. For someone who supposedly cares so much about this community, you’re willing to give up on them a little too easily for my taste, Doctor.”
His eyes turned glacial. He took a step toward her, and Monica tried hard to stand her ground. “Do not question my concern for the Parenting Center,” he said with steely resolve. “If it were not for me, that place would have been closed a long time ago.”
Well, duh! Didn’t he see her point?
“Then why are you ready to sit back and let it close?” She held her hands out, pleading.
He stared at her for what seemed like forever. An uneasy feeling traveled up her back. It was the same feeling she’d had in Dr. Slessinger’s office yesterday.
He said, “Enjoy the rest of your lunch hour, Doctor Gardner,” before edging past her and walking out the door.
Chapter Eight
Nothing had changed.
Her grandmother’s clock still rested on the mantel over the fireplace, right below the Bernard Stanley Hoyes print Jeffrey had surprised her with a few anniversaries ago. He had known how much she loved the artist’s work, and that the painting she had been eyeing in her favorite gallery was the perfect gift to lift her spirits. They’d suffered through another failed attempt at in-vitro the week before.
The delight over receiving the painting had been no match for the sickening despair that had wrapped its arms around her. Although she’d convinced Jeffrey she was okay, Amanda had known something was wrong. Long after her husband had come to grips with his disappointment, Amanda had felt as if she were still drowning in it and soon realized she was sinking into one of her episodes.
The depression had overwhelmed her. She could still remember lying in bed, too weak to move a single muscle. She had b
een so afraid Jeffery would sense there was something more to her “blues” and start to suspect that she carried the same mental illness that had stolen her mother. Jeffrey always said how grateful he was that Amanda had not inherited bipolar disorder.
If he only knew.
But he wouldn’t know. Amanda had made sure of it. Unlike her mother, she had sought help as soon as she’d suspected something wasn’t quite right. The medications had kept her symptoms at bay. Until the baby.
Amanda’s heart lifted at the thought of her baby. She cradled her widening girth with both hands, gently massaging the baby from the outside. This little one knew how to make his presence known. He’d kept her up half the night kicking.
A smile touched the edges of her mouth.
She would take a thousand kicks a minute if it meant she’d get a healthy baby in three months.
A baby.
Instant tears welled in her eyes. Not the sad tears, but the ones she craved. Happy tears. A familiar sense of awe overwhelmed her at the thought of the tiny life growing inside of her. She could stare at her protruding belly for hours on end, and still not believe she this was finally happening.
Once she and Jeffrey had made the decision to start a family, Amanda had made sure her bipolar meds were safe to use during pregnancy. But, soon, they realized it was taking longer than expected to get pregnant.
Even now Amanda’s chest constricted with the fear she’d felt when she thought she would have to go off her meds in order to start fertility treatments. Luckily, her doctor had found a drug regimen that was safe to use during fertility treatments, but Amanda had been warned those same drugs might lose their effectiveness once she became pregnant. Hormones did weird things to the body. And the mind.
Amanda swiped at the escaped tear as those awful memories seized her. When she thought about the excited anticipation of walking through the clinic doors just knowing they were going to get good news and then the soul-shattering disappointment of learning they were, yet again, unsuccessful, her heart broke all over again. There were no words to describe the elation she’d experienced when their fourth in vitro attempt had proven successful.
Then things had changed.
Her world began to fall apart. Jeffrey seemed to stay out later each night. He’d claimed he was working overtime to cover the extra medical bills, and even though his check stubs proved it to be true, Amanda could not shake the feeling that Jeffrey had been messing around. His clothes began to reek with the smell of cheap perfume, and she was certain it had been his Ford Explorer parked at a motel she passed on her drive home from school. It hadn’t mattered that she couldn’t explain how he’d made it back to their house before she had.
Amanda’s gut told her she had been wrong to accuse Jeffrey of being unfaithful, but her mind told a different story.
Then, a visit to her doctor’s had confirmed Amanda’s fears. Her valporic acid levels had fallen dramatically. As predicted, the pregnancy hormones had caused her bipolar meds to lose their effectiveness. That’s when Amanda had realized her husband’s infidelity had been just a figment of her twisted imagination. She’d known, then, what she’d had to do. She had to let him go.
How ironic that the child she and Jeffrey had prayed so hard for during their marriage would be conceived on the same day she met with her lawyer to start divorce proceedings.
An ache settled in her chest. The pain had become a familiar companion, slicing through her heart every time she thought of her and Jeffrey’s impending divorce. It had been the hardest decision she’d ever had to make, but after realizing there was a possibly her bipolar medication would no longer control her symptoms; Amanda had known it was only fair. Jeffrey didn’t deserve to be stuck in a marriage with a woman who, on some days, couldn’t tell fiction from reality.
Amanda moved to the sofa and slid onto the plush cushions. She hugged one of the throw pillows close to her chest, settling her chin on top of it.
She couldn’t take living here again. Not with Jeffrey. Every corner held a memory. Every inch of space marked an event in their lives together. Her gaze roamed their spacious living room and landed on the silver-framed picture that had rested on the built-in bookshelf for eleven years.
She, wearing the off-white fishtailed dress her mother had been married in nearly forty years ago. Jeffrey, looking like a GQ centerfold in his midnight black tuxedo. The smiles beaming on their faces were real. They were happy that day.
But she had killed that happiness, and it was too late to turn back now.
Amanda could not halt the tumultuous deluge of emotion that overcame her. Tears sluiced down her cheeks, darkening the deep green fabric of the throw pillow. Her body heaved from the force of uncontrollable sobs.
She loved him so much!
She would always love him. She’d accepted it as her destiny. But her love was not enough to hold their marriage together. They would never be the happy couple staring at her from the picture. Soon, they would not be a couple at all.
Her limbs weak, Amanda lay across the deep sofa cushions and cried herself to sleep.
The unmistakable aroma of roux wafted through the kitchen window Margo Holmes always left open as she cooked her family’s dinner. Although a roux was the basis for any number of his mother’s dishes, Eli knew she was making chicken and sausage gumbo. He had a sixth sense when it came to Mama’s cooking.
Eli made it up the wooden steps and pulled open the door to the screened porch. He battled his way through dozens of potted and hanging plants. Toby had threatened to hang a sign with Margo’s Jungle on the door. If his younger brother didn’t do it, Eli would.
When he opened the back door and walked into his mother’s kitchen, Eli almost fell to his knees. The teaser that flowed from the window was nothing compared to the full assault once he walked through the door. The rich bouquet of spicy flavors filled his nostrils and set Eli’s mouth to watering.
“Well, hello,” his mother said, turning from the cast iron pot. Her gumbo pot. Eli smiled.
He walked over to the stove and planted a kiss on his mother’s cheek. “I could smell that gumbo when I turned down the street. You’ve got the dogs in the neighborhood howling.”
“That’s when you know it’s good.” She winked.
“How much longer?” Eli asked, looking over her head and into the pot.
“Just until the chicken gets tender. Reach in the cabinet and get me the rice cooker.”
Eli moved the coffeemaker from the counter and set up the electric rice cooker in its place. He took the bag of rice out of the pantry and measured four cups, then brought the pot under the kitchen faucet and filled it until the water came up just above his fingertip. Margo had taught her boys to cook at a young age.
“I’ve got that,” she said, taking the rice pot out of his hands. “Why don’t you go into the living room? Alexander and Jasmine are in there. They’re watching the video of her dance recital. You can see the part you missed,” she said with her infamous pointed look.
“I guess a regular apology won’t cut it, huh?”
“I’m not saying a thing, Elijah.” It was his turn for the pointed look. “Remember her birthday coming up. You can make it up to your one and only niece then.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve already bought her gift.”
“That’s my boy,” Margo said, positioning her cheek for another kiss, which he gave to her. “Now go in the other room. I think there’s something for you in there.” She finished with a curious smile.
Huh? What’s that about?
Eli could hear the music from the recital as he walked through the dining room on his way to the front of the shotgun house where the living room now was. At one time it was his and Toby’s room, but after their father died, his mother bought the connecting house and converted that side to bedrooms. The door to the other side of the house swung open, nearly taking him out.
“Uncle Eli!” Jasmine exclaimed. She caught him in the stomach with her head as she w
rapped her arms around his hips.
“What’s up, Magnolia Blossom.”
“When you gonna say my right name, Uncle Eli?”
“Never,” he answered, pulling on her ponytail.
“You wanna watch me dance on the stage? Daddy’s watching it. I learnt him how to work the DVD player.”
“You taught him, baby, not learnt.” He was going to have to get this girl Hooked on Phonics or something.
Eli followed his niece into the living room and stopped cold. Right there, sitting on his mother’s floral-brocade sofa, was Tosha Culpepper, his old high school girlfriend.
This must be the something Mama had mentioned waiting for him in the living room. What was Mama up to?
“Eli,” Tosha squealed. She ran up to him, capturing him in a huge hug. Eli eyed Alex who sat on the sofa, smiling like a clown. Alex clicked off the DVD and threw the remote on the coffee table.
“Tosha, what are you doing here? In town, I mean? I thought you were in Philadelphia,” Eli asked.
“Actually, I just moved to Atlanta, so I’m back in the South.”
“Wow. That’s...um...great. So, you visiting you’re family?”
“I came down for Sienna’s graduation.”
“That’s right. Mama said she was getting her Master’s degree?”
“Yep. The last of us.”
Back in the day, the Culpepper girls had been as popular as the Holmes brothers. Their father had owned a chain of barbershops, so he could afford to send his daughters to St. Mary’s Academy, the premier African American Catholic school for girls. Tosha, the eldest, was the same age as Eli. The middle sister, Ivana, was a year younger, and the baby, Sienna, was Toby’s age.
Of the three, Sienna was probably the sanest. Even though Tosha had a good head on her shoulders, book-wise, she had the common sense of a Q-tip. Last Eli heard Ivana was a Voodoo priestess somewhere in the Quarter.
“So, how are things going? Are you still working for that pharmaceutical company?”
“No, I work for myself. I’m a certified herbalist. I moved to Atlanta to open up my own practice.”
Deliver Me Page 7
