The Color of Hope

by Kim Cash Tate

  Libby hesitated. “Working through . . . the Bible.”

  Her cousin’s entire countenance changed. “Are you serious? That’s awesome, Libby. How did that happen?”

  “See, that’s why Hope Springs makes it complicated—one of the reasons, anyway. I don’t need you asking a bunch of questions or assuming it means this or that. This is personal for me.”

  “So . . . I can’t even know how it happened?”

  Libby wasn’t sure she wanted to say, but she’d started in now. “Kinda began on a weekend I spent with Aunt Gwynn, Keisha, and Aunt Floretta.”

  “What?” Janelle looked as if she couldn’t find the words. “You planned a trip to New Jersey and didn’t tell me? You spent time with Aunt Gwynn . . . and didn’t tell me? When was this?”

  “Over a month ago,” Libby said. “It was spontaneous, and surreal. The entire weekend, the conversation, the meals, even little impromptu things seemed meant for me, at just the right time.” She caught herself. “I know I’m not making sense again.”

  “Actually, now you’re making perfect sense. It was God.”

  “I can’t quibble with that.” Libby rose from her seat again. “But on that note—before you ask more questions—I’ve got to go.” She headed for the door.

  Janelle followed. “I won’t ask anything right now. But I’m really excited for you. I can tell you’re in a different place.”

  They walked together to Libby’s car as a caravan of cars came toward them. Stephanie and Lindell parked first, followed by Todd, Becca, and their kids. Kory had apparently driven Dee, Tiffany, and Daniel. And parking next to them was Marcus, with Charley, Travis—and Trina. Everyone in the crew had on Hope Springs Tigers shirts or at least royal blue and gold.

  Stephanie came toward her. “Libby’s in Hope Springs? And trying to sneak off before we got back? What’s up?” She hugged her.

  “I was here on business.” Sounded nice and official. “Helping Janelle with wedding plans. But I couldn’t stay long.”

  “Hey, stranger.” Becca gave her a warm hug. “We’ve had a change of season since you were here last.”

  “I know. I’m terrible.”

  Trina came over next, chatting it up in her Hope Springs football shirt. Did Travis get that for her?

  Libby gave a quick glance in his direction. He was the only one who hadn’t joined them. Looked like he was searching for something in the car. More like stalling.

  “I’d better be going,” Libby said.

  “You should stay,” Todd said. “We’re about to put some hot dogs and burgers on the grill.”

  Libby felt strangely out of place. Is this what things were like now? Trina was a regular part of the circle?

  “Thanks, Todd,” she said, “but I can’t.” She smiled. “Maybe next time.”

  A quick round of good-byes ensued, and the crew moved inside both houses.

  Janelle lagged behind. “He thinks it’s better this way,” she said, “if he gives you your space.”

  “You don’t have to make excuses for Travis.” Libby opened her door and got in. “He didn’t speak. So what.”

  Janelle leaned into the car. “Have you thought of telling him about this journey you’re on?”

  She frowned. “No. Why would I? I don’t keep him apprised of my life.”

  “But I know he prays for you,” Janelle said. “I really think he’d want to know.”

  “That’s funny. His actions just showed the exact opposite.” Libby started the car. “I’m not telling him where I am, and I don’t want you to either.”

  Janelle didn’t move.

  “Yes?” Libby said.

  “I’m praying.”

  Any other time, Libby would’ve tossed the comment away as cliché. But in this moment, it meant something to her. “Thank you,” she said.

  Libby drove away, trying not to wrestle with the image of Travis and Trina. Why should she? They were a couple. And given Travis’s age and desire to marry, they likely had a clear trajectory.

  She played it out in her mind . . . Travis married. Travis in his boyhood home with a wife. Travis at New Jerusalem with a first lady. The Travis she’d known for more than thirty years, with whom she’d always had a special connection in one way or another . . . committed to someone else.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Friday, October 1

  Marcus opened the passenger door when Charley pulled to a stop. “This is the first Friday night we haven’t been together.”

  Charley shook her head at him. “That is so not true. We were just at the football game together.”

  “That’s not together, together,” he said. “That’s assistant principal and coach amongst a crowd of rowdy teenagers, acting professionally. Together is different.”

  “You’re just spoiled.”

  “And I’m okay with that!”

  “Next time I’ll tell Stephanie, Janelle, and Becca not to plan a girls’ night on our night. But I have to admit, I’m looking forward to it.” She nudged him. “Anyway, you get a guys’ night out of the deal since they’re all hanging at Todd’s while we’re next door.”

  “Yeah, but we get the kids.”

  Charley looked as if she were trying not to laugh.

  “All right, I’ll muddle through,” Marcus said, sighing.

  “Poor guy.”

  “I need a kiss to make it, though.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Charley smiled. “Only if it’s completely necessary.”

  He held her face and looked into her eyes, his heart dancing as always when he was close to her. He had no clue how he ever thought this couldn’t work. Never had his soul been this intertwined with any woman. Their lips touched softly and they pulled closer, deepening the kiss, then gently pulled back.

  “If you hear a double knock on the door in two hours,” he said, “that’s my code to let you know I need another dose.” Marcus stepped out.

  “What about a serenade outside the window?” she said.

  He bent back down. “Don’t think I won’t do it. You’ll just have to be embarrassed.”

  She laughed as he closed the car door and walked up to the house to grab a few things before heading to Todd’s. He stopped first in the kitchen. That hot dog at the game had worn off, but scanning the inside of the refrigerator, he didn’t see many options. He got a bottle of water and closed the door, hoping there’d be something to eat at Todd’s.

  He took the stairs by twos up to his bedroom and heard a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” he called, heading back down.

  The door opened, and when Marcus looked down, Skip Willoughby was standing in his foyer in a windbreaker and slacks.

  Marcus walked downstairs and extended his hand. “Mr. Willoughby, I’m surprised to see you tonight.”

  The older man didn’t shake his hand, but closed the door behind him.

  “Marcus, I’m surprised as well,” he said. “Surprised you’re still seeing my granddaughter despite the clear statement that it went against my wishes as head of the family. I find that disrespectful.”

  Marcus rapidly marshaled his bearings. Had this man come to his house to confront him?

  “No disrespect intended, sir.” Marcus looked him in the eye. “If I recall, it was Charley who expressed to you that she wanted to continue seeing me.”

  “Charley is young and on the rebound from a failed engagement. I don’t expect her to see things clearly. But I had hoped you understood my meaning when I said I did not approve of this relationship.”

  “Sir, I don’t know what to say,” Marcus said. “Charley and I . . . care deeply for one another. We didn’t plan for it to happen—”

  “Is that so?” His voice was eerily calm, his eyes piercing. “You didn’t plan to smooth-talk my granddaughter so you could seduce her? I saw you two just now in the car. I swear, if you get her pregnant—”

  “Mr. Willoughby, I’m sorry, but what I find disrespec
tful is that you would come into my house and falsely accuse me.” Marcus could feel his adrenaline surging. “I have no intentions of ‘seducing’ Charley. For your information, we’re not sleeping together. We’re trying to honor God—”

  “Don’t give me that. If you were honoring God, you’d honor her mother and me by leaving her alone.”

  Marcus squared his stance. “But Charley doesn’t want that. I don’t want that, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” He moved around Skip and opened the door. “Sir, it’s time for you to leave.”

  Skip slowly pushed the door again, reached beneath his jacket, and drew out a gun. In the blink of an eye, it was aimed at Marcus’s temple, and every muscle in his body froze.

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” Skip said. “I can and will do something about it. You think you can rise up against my authority in this family?” His tone took a menacing turn. “Surely you’re aware of my deep connections in this town. If you do not end your relationship with Charley, you will find yourself out of a job.” He cocked the weapon. “And if you still persist, well . . . I suppose we’ll all admire that you’re so enamored with her that you’re willing to lay down your life for her.”

  Marcus had never been so scared and so incensed in his life. He spoke through gritted teeth. “Are you threatening my life?”

  “I’m trying to spare your life.”

  “You would kill me?” Marcus cut his eyes over at him. “Are you crazy? You’d never get away with it.”

  “That clearly wouldn’t be your concern, now would it?”

  “Mr. Willoughby, I’m calling the police as soon as you’re gone.”

  “Your word against mine and a dozen others,” he said. “I’m at a bar with family and friends celebrating another win in an undefeated football season.”

  He uncocked the gun and put it away. A moment later he was gone.

  Marcus exhaled hard, his heart pounding out of his chest. Skip Willoughby just threatened my life. What on earth am I supposed to do?

  “You’re telling that girl right there good-bye, that’s what you’re going to do,” Gladys said.

  Marcus’s parents had driven from Raleigh the moment they heard, joining the rest in Grandma Geri’s living room. Having heard the full story, his mom had been quick with her verdict.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Gladys was pacing the room. “Is there even a question? My son’s not gonna put his life on the line for this girl. Ain’t no girl worth all that.”

  Charley was on the love seat beside him, head cast downward, spent from crying. Now she looked numb.

  Gladys looked at Marcus. “What did the police say?”

  He was spent himself. “Haven’t called them yet.”

  Gladys turned to her husband. “Warren, did you hear your son say he hasn’t called the police yet?” She turned back to Marcus. “Why not? That man needs to be locked up for attempted murder.” Gladys’s hand went to her forehead like she had a migraine. “My blood pressure is up, I can feel it.”

  “Aunt Gladys, it’s not attempted murder, which is a felony,” Travis said. “It’s misdemeanor assault. They wouldn’t exactly lock him up for that.”

  “I want to at least see that man placed in handcuffs and hauled down to the station.” Gladys was growing more upset. “If it was the other way around, and my son put a gun to Skip’s head, do you not think he’d be in jail right now?”

  “Now that’s a good point,” Stephanie said. “I hadn’t thought about it that way.”

  Gladys looked around the room. “Can somebody please tell me why the police haven’t been called?”

  Charley looked up. “I asked Marcus to wait.” She sighed. “I don’t know what possessed my grandpa to do this, but I’m sure he only meant to scare Marcus. I know he wouldn’t follow through on those threats.” She looked teary again. “I think I can handle him myself. I just . . . would hate to see him in trouble with the law.”

  Gladys’s hand went to her hip. “Okay, I see. You’re still on some prairie in La La Land, and we’re over here in the real world. You didn’t even know your grandfather like some of us did, but now you think you can ‘handle’ him?” Her head shifted to Marcus. “Did I not tell you this girl would complicate your life?” She shook her head. “Call the police now.”

  “I have to agree,” Warren said. “This is serious, son.”

  “Absolutely,” Travis said. “The fact is that Skip Willoughby came into my house with a gun, pointed it at Marcus’s head, and threatened his life. There needs to be a police report to that effect.”

  Gladys turned to Todd. “He’s your elder. What’s your counsel?”

  Todd hadn’t said much beyond his initial shock. He started with a long sigh. “I’m still stunned,” he said. “No matter what happens with the law, this has far-reaching implications as far as I’m concerned.” He looked at Marcus. “But I don’t see how you could not call the police.”

  Charley turned toward him. “Marcus, can we talk about it some more? This will cause such a rift in my family.”

  Marcus ran his hands down his face. “Your grandfather held a gun to my head, and you’re worried about your family?”

  “Marcus, please. I’m as upset as you are, but—”

  He released her hand and stood. “There’s no way you could be as upset as I am. There’s no way you understand how it feels for a black man to have a white man put a gun to his head.” He uttered an empty laugh as he dialed 911. “I should’ve called the police the minute he left.”

  “911. What’s your emergency?”

  Marcus eyed Charley as he spoke. “I’d like to report an assault with a deadly weapon.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Friday marked the eighth day since Sam and Ben’s first phone conversation. She knew it was silly, but she’d been keeping track, making mental tallies each day. Or more precisely, each night. They rarely interacted at school, but he’d called her consistently in the evenings. She’d never had a boy show interest like this, talking more than an hour some nights. When he called tonight and asked her out, she didn’t think twice. She must be really special to him if he wanted to spend time face-to-face.

  Sam squirted a light mousse into her hands and ran it through her hair. Brushing the outer layer, she smoothed her hair into a ponytail and secured it at the base of her neck, letting the curly spirals hang down. She didn’t have much makeup—and rarely used what she had—but she had it all laid out before her tonight. Powder base, eye shadow, eye liner, blush . . . She applied each carefully, then remembered mascara. Flipping to the cabinet behind the bathroom mirror, she found her mother’s. With a steady hand, she thickened her lashes. Perfect.

  She stepped back and examined herself, loving the look of the dark wash jeans Miss Stephanie bought with a brand-new shirt from last week, courtesy of her mom. Hank had taken her mother shopping, but this shirt was too big when she tried it on at home. She offered it to Sam, and Sam wondered where she’d ever wear it. A chic white shirt with a tailored V-neck and long shark-bite hem, it seemed too nice for school. But now she was glad it was hers. She primped a little, feeling pretty . . . and sexy.