“Hold out your hand,” he said. Then he flicked his green eyes up to meet hers. “Please.” The word sent a shiver of something electric up her spine and she obeyed. He knew what that word did to her. He knew she couldn't refuse him when he said please. Then he dropped something cold and metallic into her palm. She stared down at the item, blinking as she processed what it was and what it meant.
“It's a key ring,” she said, holding up the little ring and staring at the two brass keys that hung from it. “Are these keys to...” she trailed off, already knowing the answer but wanting him to say it.
“They're keys for here,” he murmured, wrapping his hand around her knees and pulling them back onto the couch. “That way you can use the kitchen anytime you want,” he said, arranging himself on top of her legs again.
“You're giving me keys to your apartment so I can use the kitchen,” she repeated, staring down at the keys.
“If you're going to be in school, you'll need somewhere to cook, right?” He shrugged, closing his eyes like he was really about to fall asleep. But he wasn't fooling anybody by trying to pretend that it wasn't a big deal at all. She settled back on the pillow, trying to figure out what to think about his 'gift'. He couldn't seriously be giving her the keys to his place so lackadaisically, like it was nothing. It surely didn't feel like nothing.
“What about the bed? Can I use the bed anytime I want?” she asked, wanting to keep the conversation going.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Just the kitchen.”
“Oh, okay,” She set the keys on the arm of the couch, telling herself that she wasn't going to freak out just then. “Wanted to make sure.”
“The bed's off limits,” he said, snaking his arms around her hips and pulling her closer to him.
“But what about when you're here and I'm here, too? Is the bed off limits then?” she asked innocently, adjusting herself under him. She raised her knee, pressing her thigh against his ribs. He snuggled his face into her midsection and took a deep breath, ignoring her questions. She drummed her nails on his shoulders. “And what about the bathroom? Am I allowed in there?” He mumbled something under his breath and she knew she was annoying him. Smiling to herself, she continued. “And what if the cat needs to be fed when I'm here? Should I ignore her?” He mumbled something incoherent again and she couldn't stop herself. “I mean, I wouldn't want to overstep my boundaries,” she continued. Taking another deep breath, he opened his eyes and stared up at her.
“I don't care what you do in here,” he said. “I just care that you're here.” She swallowed hard, trying not to let him see how much her insides melted at his words. She nodded jerkily, keeping her face as neutral as possible.
“If you say so,” she whispered. He stared at her for a moment longer and then closed his eyes again. She ran her hands over his shoulders, unconsciously, a million thoughts running through her mind. Thoughts about school, thoughts about Tate, and thoughts about everything else. She felt herself relax into the couch as the rhythm of his breathing, the warmth of his body, and the late hour took it's toll on her resolve. She was chock full of questions about the future, but she knew she wasn't going to get any answers that night. She glanced down at the floor and realized the cat was sitting a few feet away, staring at her.
“Guess what?” she whispered to the cat. Char looked up at her with bored yellow eyes, and gave a yawn, stretching her mouth open wide and exposing her little fangs. “I'm going to culinary school,” she announced, although Char didn't care one way or the other.
“What?” Tate murmured, his voice husky and tired.
“Nothing,” she said. “You should go to bed.”
“No.” He shook his head and tightening his arms around her, almost childlike in his stubbornness. “I want to stay here. Just like this.” She nodded, her heart speeding up in her chest. He was just too much, she decided. She didn't know what she was going to do with him. Settling back on the pillow, she wrapped her arms around him and held him until he fell asleep.
Chapter Fifteen
“Happy birthday, my dear, sweet niece!” Gina screamed the second Shay walked into the salon the morning of her birthday. Shay raised her hands to her ears and grimaced. It was too damn early for all the noise. But she wasn't getting off that easy. She was bum rushed by Thalia, who threw her arms around Shay as she tried to take off her coat.
“Happy Birthday, girlie-pie!” Thalia exclaimed. “You don't look any older to me.”
“Oh hush,” Shay said, swatting at her and trying not to smile. She hated the thought that Thalia was always going to be younger than her.
“We got you a cake and everything,” Thalia whispered in her ear.
“Don't you tell her about that cake!” Gina called out from the back. “It's supposed to be a surprise!”
“She didn't tell me anything!” Shay called back.
“You want me to do your nails? You need birthday nails,” Thalia said, grabbing Shay's hands as soon as she pulled off her gloves.
“Maybe later,” Shay said. Thalia nodded excitedly and skipped off. Shay took a deep breath and hung her coat up behind the desk. She settled down at the desk, wanting everything to go back to normal. The other stylists trickled in, as did their clients, and, for awhile, the day went on as scheduled. They all tuned into Rodrigo's telenovela at noon, screamed and yelled at the antics on screen. Thalia did her nails around one, after the morning rush died down. Then Gina brought the cake out with a big '25' candle on it and, for the first time all day, a hush fell over the salon.
“Oh God,” Shay muttered under her breath as everybody began to sing at once. She covered her face, but they didn't relent. Gina brought the cake to the front desk, her face lit up orange by the candle. Shay blew it out and everyone cheered.
“You don't look a day over twenty-four, girl,” Raquelle yelled out and Shay shot her an evil look to everyone's delight. Then she ran the edge of her finger through the pink icing of the cake, not able to resist. It was damn good frosting and she licked it off her finger and immediately looked at Gina. She'd eaten so many cakes in the past few months, you would think she'd be immune to them by then. But she wasn't.
“Where's the knife?” she asked. “Let's cut this baby up.”
“You're welcome, Sugar,” Gina said. Shay snaked her arm around her aunt's shoulders and pulled her close.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said, squeezing her aunt hard. “You're the best aunt a girl ever had.”
“You know it,” Gina said, sliding a knife across the desk.
“Okay, who wants a slice?” she asked, and all the hands in the salon went up, even Rodrigo's, even though he was on always on a diet. “First, take a picture,” Shay said, handing her phone to her aunt. She posed in front of the cake with the knife, already knowing exactly who she was going to send the picture to. He's going to be so jealous, she thought, grinning wide as Gina snapped a shot. If Tate was lucky, maybe she would save him a piece. Maybe.
As the day wore on, Shay felt better and better. She had pretty new nails. She had a pretty cake. She had goals for the future and had begun to research culinary schools on her work computer. She was lucky in more ways than one. She had friends, family, and a complicated relationship with a man who seemed to like her a lot. All in all, it was shaping up to be one of her best birthdays ever.
Which is why she should have known it was all about to go to shit.
Around four, she left the shop for her late break. She threw on her coat and her gloves and headed out into the darkening afternoon, on the hunt for wine. She pulled out her phone, knowing that Tate was still home sick. She had already stashed a piece of cake for him in the back of the office fridge, the only bit remaining after the vultures at the salon had gotten through with it. She had every intention of spending the rest of her birthday curled on the couch with him and the cat, a glass of wine within reaching distance. Her partying days were long gone. In fact, she'd never really had partying days, but s
he felt like she was too old to go partying and clubbing. Too old to enjoy it, anyway. Rodrigo had offered to take her out to one of his favorite Reggaeton clubs in the Heights that weekend and she was considering it. At the moment, the only thing that sounded good was to be hugged up with her man, out of the cold and out of her clothes. She typed him a text, her fingers slowly moving over the keys. She was getting better at typing, though. She wasn't lightning speed yet, but she was more than functional.
Shay: What r u doing?
She smiled to herself like an idiot as the text sent, wondering if he would answer back. Sure enough, a second later, her phone vibrated in her hand with his response.
Tate: Nothing
Shay: What r u wearing?
She bit on her lip, waiting for his response, barely paying attention to the people around her on the sidewalk.
Tate: Nothing
She snorted out a laugh, dirty thoughts clouding out any good thoughts in her mind. She was so busy texting back and asking Tate for a picture to substantiate his claim that she didn't notice the old black car creeping down the street behind her. She wasn't paying one lick of attention as the car pulled to a stop at the curb beside her and the door opened. She was too salivating over the picture that Tate sent back that proved that he was, indeed, not wearing anything.
“Sugar?” a raspy smoker's voice said, too close for comfort. She stopped in her tracks, recognizing the voice immediately. But it couldn't belong to the person she thought it belonged to. She hadn't seen that person in over six years. So, when she looked up, imagine her surprise when it was him, standing right next to her on the sidewalk like he hadn't just appeared out of nowhere. To be honest, she would have been less surprised to see a rainbow colored unicorn standing there. For a long minute, she just stared at the ghost from her past, blinking in surprise, wondering if he was going to disappear. “Oh, Sugar, you look so good,” he said, dropping his hands to his sides like he didn't know what to do with them. “I almost can't believe how grown up you look. Beautiful just like your mama, I'm telling you.”
When her voice finally came back, she would ask him a million questions. She would cuss him out a million ways. But for then, all she could do was utter one, stunned word.
“Daddy?”
Chapter Sixteen
Shay turned off her phone and slid it into her bag, then clasped her hands together on the laminated red gingham table cloth. Her fingers were cold, so she rubbed them together, trying to get warm. She turned to look out the window at the dark street, but steam from the heat in the small restaurant wouldn't let her see anything other than blurry figures walking by.
“What can I get for you, sweetheart?” a voice said, pulling her out of her thoughts. It was a waiter, a tall dark-skinned man with kind eyes and a greasy apron covering his clothes.
“Coffee,” she said without thinking. She felt so cold and all she wanted was something to warm her up.
“You need a menu?” he asked, tapping his pencil on his little pad. “We got pot roast on special tonight.”
“Do you still have the chicken and dumplings?” she asked, remembering how she always used to order it as a kid. She hadn't had it in years and suddenly it sounded delicious.
“Sure do,” he said with a bright laugh.
“And a side of okra,” she said without thinking.
“Yes ma'am,” he said. “I'll be right out with that coffee.”
“Okay,” she nodded, turning back to the window.
“You want cream with that?” he asked, not done with her yet.
“Yes,” she murmured. “Please.”
“Coming right up.” He nodded and strolled off, not an ounce of weight seeming to be on his shoulders, singing along to the Temptations song coming over the speakers. As soon as she was alone again, her stomach clenched and she took a deep breath, trying to ease her nerves. She looked around the small dining room, noticing how much it hadn't changed. The restaurant was a hole-in-the-wall soul food joint, but it had been in business all of her life. The food was good and cheap and the atmosphere was old school. Walking in the door had been like coming home again. Unfortunately, Bessie's Restaurant was as much a place of sad memories as it was happy ones. Memories of light, careless times long gone by, of loud family meals after church, and of quieter times, of two-person dinners after her mother had died. In a way, Bessie's was like a micro-chasm of Harlem. Happy times and bitter times and good food all mixed up in one place.
The waiter came back with the coffee and she stirred in cream and sugar, trying to give herself some distraction. Her father had asked to meet her and she'd agreed, but beyond that, she had no idea what the hell she was doing. She didn't know why she'd agreed to meet with him. She didn't know why she was keeping it a secret from Gina and Tate and everyone else. After Sam had approached her on the street, she'd gone back to work like nothing had happened. She'd put on a happy face and acted normal. But she didn't know what to say to Tate, so she'd stopped texting him. Now she'd turned off her phone, like she was doing something wrong. She felt like she was doing something wrong. But she couldn't get up and walk away. She couldn't leave without knowing what he wanted. Her whole life she'd been waiting to find out what her father wanted from her.
Sam Spears walked in the door to Bessie's just as Shay was about to flag down the waiter and ask for her food to go. She had gotten tired of waiting for him, and just like that, he'd shown up. Typical. She wrapped her hands around the warm mug of coffee and studied him as he walked over to her table. He still had the same confident stride, the same good looks, even though they were faded a bit. His hair was graying at the temples. His clothes hung on him and he looked skinnier than she remembered. His black leather overcoat looked frayed at the edges and scuffed at the elbows, like it had seen better days.
“My baby girl,” he said, smiling his big toothy grin and holding out his arms. She hesitated, but she couldn't refuse him. She stood, pushing her chair back, and stepped into his embrace. He still wore the same cologne, she noticed, and he still smelled like cigarettes and smoke. But there was a new scent, one that he'd tried to cover up with mouthwash. The sickly sweet smell was unmistakeable. Vodka, she guessed. He always used to have a weakness for clear liquor. He'd always kept a bottle or two around the house growing up. He held her tightly for a few seconds too long, but she didn't try to pull away.
Despite everything, she'd missed him like crazy.
“Did you order?” he asked as they sat down.
“Yeah,” she nodded, feeling a little bad for not waiting for him. But then again, she hadn't been sure he was actually going to show up.
“Let me guess. Chicken and dumplings?” he asked, a glimmer of amusement in his dark eyes. Shay smiled and nodded.
“I couldn't resist,” she said.
“Guess you're not on that diet anymore,” he said, leaning over to look at her closer. “You look good, girl. Lost all your baby fat.” He lifted his hand to get the attention of the waiter. “Your mama was like that, too. When she turned twenty-one, all of a sudden – boom! Skinny as a rail. Until she got pregnant with you, of course.” The waiter came over, all smiles again. “My man, what's up,” Sam said, standing, charm practically oozing out of his pores.
“Wow! Ain't seen you in forever, Sammy!” the waiter exclaimed, his smile growing even wider. Shay sat there quietly, smiling when they looked at her, but she tuned them out as the loudly caught up. Instead, she watched her father. There was something off about him, she realized. He seemed the same on the surface, but there was something different. It went beyond his worn clothes and the scent of alcohol. She had so many questions, but she had no idea where to start. Finally, the waiter ambled off, and Sam sat down again. She sipped at her coffee, even though it was getting cold.
“It's so crazy to be back here at Bessie's, sitting across from my favorite girl. Just like old times, huh?” he said, rubbing his hand through his salt-and-pepper goatee.
“Daddy,” she said, swallow
ing hard and setting her mug down on the table. “Why are you here?”
“Because it's my baby's birthday,” he said. “See? I didn't forget.”
“What about all my other birthdays?” she asked, dropping her eyes to the table cloth. “I've had six birthdays since I last saw you.” Then she forced herself to look him in the eye, because she'd been waiting to do it for so long. Shit, before that afternoon, she hadn't known if she was ever going to be able to do it. And yet, here she was and there he was, and she wasn't going to let the moment slip away. “I had six birthdays in prison, Daddy. Prison,” she hissed, dropping her voice. “And I didn't get one phone call. I didn't get one visit. I didn't get one letter. For six fucking years.”
“Now you watch your mouth, Sugar,” he said, dropping his voice as well. “Did your auntie give you that package I left for you?”
“The package?” she asked, knowing exactly what he meant but wanting to hear him say it.
“Yes, the package. You know exactly what that package was for, so don't say I never gave you anything, baby girl.”
“Do you think that's supposed to make up for six years of my life? Six years I can't get back?”
“Well, it's something, now ain't it?” He sat back in his chair, fumbling around and patting the pockets of his coat. He pulled out a pack of menthol cigarettes and tossed them on the table.
“You can't smoke in here, Daddy,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“Since when?”
“I don't know. It's a law.”
“That's some bullshit,” he murmured, grabbing the pack off the table and putting it back in his pocket.
“Where have you been?” she asked. “I want to know what you were doing that was so important.”
“Shaylene, you know I can't get into all that,” he said, drumming his hands on the table. For the first time, she noticed that he wasn't wearing any of the big gold rings he used to wear. Other than his wedding ring, his fingers were bare. His Rolex watch was gone too. She leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest. There was a lot he wasn't telling her. There was a lot he had never told her and probably never would. She didn't know if she wanted to know, but she still wanted answers. She was the one who'd paid the price for his crimes. She deserved something in return, something a hell of a lot more precious than twelve thousand dollars.
Spitfire Suckerpunch (House of Pain Book 2) Page 25
