Best Kept Secrets

by Rochelle Alers

  “I’m through with Genie and her folks. I haven’t spent time with my granddaughters in more than a month. If they don’t come by for Sunday dinner, then I never get to see them. Genie’s mother hovers over them like they’re hothouse flowers, so I’ve let them go. Tell M.J. that I’ll be more than happy to come and help her out.”

  “Thanks, Mama. Call me when you get here, and I’ll come and get you.”

  “There’s no need to thank me, because I love spending time with my grandchildren.”

  Samuel smiled. “Martin and Nancy love you, too. Good night, Mama.”

  “Good night, Samuel.”

  He ended the call and smiled at M.J. “That does it. My mother’s coming.”

  Her dimpled smile matched his as she put her arms around his neck. “Thank you, Sammy.”

  Pulling back, he stared down at her, sobering. “I don’t want anything to happen to you. I don’t know this baby you’re carrying, but I’m willing to sacrifice it if it means saving your life.”

  “No,” M.J. whispered as tears filled her eyes. “I don’t want to lose my baby.”

  “And I don’t want to lose you.”

  “You won’t lose me, Sammy. Remember, we promised to give each other at least seventy-five years.”

  He pressed his forehead to hers. “That we did.”

  “Our parents’ marriages didn’t last a long time, but we can start a new tradition with ours.”

  Sliding down to the mound of pillows cradling his shoulders, Samuel eased M.J. down beside him. “I’m not ashamed to say that I’m glad my father died when he did.”

  She gasped. “Why would you say something like that?”

  “Because Charles Cole was as mean as a junkyard dog. The son of a bitch never had a kind word to say to his wife or any of his children. Only Thomas was exempt from his venom. I could count the number of times on one hand that he didn’t beat me. I got used to his whippings, but it was his constant ridicule that I’d end up dirt-poor, begging for handouts, that galled me.”

  “Is that why you work so hard? Just to make a liar out of a dead man?”

  “I work hard so that my children won’t have to.”

  “Do you think our children will appreciate how hard you’ve worked if they don’t know what you’ve had to sacrifice to make life easier for them?”

  Samuel held her gaze. He knew she was talking about his business trips. “It’s not always going to be like this.”

  “But when is it going to end?”

  He sucked in a lungful of air, holding it, then let it out slowly. “I don’t know, darling. Just tonight Martin asked when he could travel with me.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “When he’s thirteen.” Forcing a smile, Samuel traced the curving arch of her eyebrows with a forefinger. “He’s growing up quickly. Once he’s in school I’m going to take him into the office with me at least one Saturday a month. It will give us time to be together, and I want him to learn the business from the inside out.”

  Vertical lines appeared between M.J.’s eyes. “Don’t rush it, Sammy. Let him enjoy being a boy first.”

  “Oh, he’ll be a normal boy. I plan to take him fishing, to baseball games, and teach him to drive as soon as his feet reach the pedals.”

  Her frown vanished. “He’s going to love that.”

  “This is going to be a very different world for him once he becomes a man. Right now the economy can go either way. It can continue to balloon, or it’s going to go bust. Seats on the New York Stock Exchange are now selling for three hundred fifteen thousand, while economists are debating whether the jobless rate is two or four million. That’s bullshit when veterans who’ve fought for this country can’t get jobs.

  “Meanwhile, President Hoover has promised Americans ‘a chicken in every pot, and a car in every garage.’ New Fords are selling for six hundred dollars. How is the average worker able to afford a car when he doesn’t earn six hundred dollars a year? Prohibition has led to an increase in crime and alcoholism. Did you know that the salary for a New York City business girl is thirty-three dollars and fifty cents for a fifty-hour workweek? That breaks down to sixty-seven cents an hour. I pay my best workers in Costa Rica and Puerto Rico more than that and for a shorter workweek.”

  “You should open a business here in the States.”

  “I can’t, M.J.”

  “Why not?”

  “Not until things change. Not until there are laws to protect the rights of Negroes to live, work and vote wherever and whenever they want, and not until someone takes up a sword to cut off the head of the most venomous reptile to ever slither across this land.”

  “What’s that?”

  Samuel gave his wife a long, penetrating look that made her shiver. “The Ku Klux Klan.”

  He hadn’t set up a company in the States but had become an anonymous donor to the NAACP, and recently a Florida Agriculture and Mechanical University benefactor.

  M.J. was grateful for who or what had prompted her husband to disclose things he’d concealed from her in the past. His willingness to talk about his business was most surprising.

  “Tell me about Puerto Rico,” she crooned softly.

  Samuel regarded her quizzically for a moment, his breathing catching in his throat. Had M.J. suspected something? Had she known that he’d slept with Teresa?

  “What about it?” he asked calmly.

  “Is it as beautiful as Cuba?”

  He let out his breath in a long, silent sigh. “It’s beautiful, but in a different way.”

  Samuel told her everything he remembered about the island from Old San Juan to the tiny villages in the mountains. It was some time before he realized she’d fallen asleep in his arms.

  Guilt—raw and acrid—filled his throat like bile.

  Oh, sweet heaven! What had he done?

  Now he knew how Adam felt when he’d sinned against God. The verse from his Bible school instruction hit him full force: The serpent beguiled me, and I ate. However, Teresa Maldonado wasn’t the serpent.

  He’d fallen prey to another one of the deadly sins: lust.

  Teresa sat on the porch with her mother. She handed her the small box with the earrings. “Something for you, Mami.”

  Silvia opened the box and gasped. “Teresa. Where did you get these?”

  “Mr. Cole bought them for me to give to you.”

  “You took these from him?”

  “No, Mami. He told me to pick out something for you, and I thought you would like these earrings. You like them, no?”

  Silvia’s brown eyes filled with tears. “Sí. I like them. But I can’t wear them.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it would not be right.”

  “What’s not right?” Ramon asked through the screen door.

  Teresa stood up, staring at her father through the mesh. “Mr. Cole gave me the money to buy something for Mami, and she doesn’t want to accept it.”

  Pushing open the door, Ramon stepped out onto the porch. “Show me.” Silvia handed her husband the box with the earrings. There was enough light coming from the lamp on a table near the door to catch the sparkle of the diamonds. “I would have to work a whole year to have enough money to buy these.” His green eyes shifted to his daughter. “We cannot accept these.”

  “Why not, Papa?”

  “Because it is not…it is not proper.”

  “What’s not proper is refusing a gift given in the spirit of goodwill.”

  “What is this goodwill?” Ramon continued. “Why would Mr. Cole want to give my wife a gift?”

  “It’s in appreciation for what I did for him, Papa.”

  Ramon and Silvia stared at Teresa as if she had two heads. “What did you do?” her mother asked in a hoarse whisper.

  Pinpoints of heat seared Teresa’s face. Did it show? Could her parents discern that she’d slept with a man?

  “What did you do, Teresa?” Ramon said, repeating his wife’s query.

&n
bsp; Swallowing her panic, she straightened her spine. “I was Mr. Cole’s interpreter, and in doing so I saved him hundreds of thousands of dollars. He bought the earrings out of gratitude. And it would be insulting if I were to give them back to him.

  “Mami, Papa, be reasonable,” she pleaded softly. “I could possibly lose my job. And you know we need the money.” Teresa saw the tension leave her father’s jaw. “Papa, you say that you want to buy your own house. You can save the extra money I’m bringing home to do that.” She pressed her palms together in a prayerful gesture. “Please, Papa. Don’t destroy your dream with pride.”

  Ramon saw the tears glistening in his daughter’s eyes. He took a step and hugged her. “Okay. Your mother will wear your Mr. Cole’s gift, but only for special days. If she wears them to the factory, then people will think we are too prosperous.”

  Rising on tiptoe, Teresa kissed her father’s cheek. “Thank you, Papa.”

  “You really like working for Mr. Cole?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  She liked working for Samuel, and sleeping with him. He was generous—in and out of bed. Before he’d put her in a taxi to take her home, he’d given her a hundred dollars. He’d cautioned her not to put it in the bank. Samuel also told her he would give her a little something each time they got together because he enjoyed her company.

  It wasn’t until she walked into her bedroom and hid the money in a box where she kept her menstrual pads that shame assailed her. Samuel Cole had given her money as if she were a puta.

  She vowed not to accept money from him again, other than her salary, unless she was Mrs. Samuel Cole.

  Chapter 28

  Too often the art of pleasing a man goes out the window when the stork flies in.

  —Joyce Brothers

  ColeDiz was almost fully staffed. The only exception was Nora Harris. She was still in Arkansas with her son, whose jail sentence was commuted because the bullet lodged in his skull could not be surgically removed. The result was that he would spend the rest of his life confined to a wheelchair.

  Teresa sat in the alcove manning the switchboard in Mrs. Harris’s absence, but sitting closer to Samuel hadn’t eased her apprehension. She’d gone back to school, which meant she saw him three days each week instead of five. Her fear was that what she’d shared with him in Puerto Rico was over because they hadn’t been alone together since their return. Samuel had changed his hours, arriving late and leaving early, instructing her to see Everett if she encountered a problem.

  Problema!

  Samuel Cole had become a problem—her problem. But if what she suspected was true, then all of her restless nights would soon come to an end.

  She checked the watch pinned to her blouse over her breast. She was told to call after five. Picking up the headset, she inserted the trunk line for outgoing calls into the switchboard. She dialed the number, listening through her earpiece for a break in the connection.

  “This is Mrs. Maldonado,” she whispered when the doctor answered the call.

  “Yes, Mrs. Maldonado,” came a drawling masculine voice. The crackling of turning papers came through the wire. “The results of your test reveal that you are pregnant. I’d like to see you in my office some time next week for a more thorough examination.”

  Teresa swallowed hard, fighting tears, and unaware that a low, tortured sob had escaped her constricted throat. What she’d wanted, had planned and prayed for, had manifested. She was pregnant with Samuel Cole’s baby. One time, and the only time he hadn’t used a condom, he’d gotten her pregnant. That was the night she’d lost her virginity.

  Tears blurred her vision. “I…I will call you and set up an appointment.”

  “Make certain you do, Mrs. Maldonado.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Baker.”

  She hung up before the doctor could say anything else. The import of her condition hit her full force. She was nineteen, a part-time nursing student, unmarried and pregnant with a married man’s child. She’d boasted to Liliana that she could take Samuel away from his wife, but now she wasn’t so certain.

  “Are you all right, Teresa?” Everett’s drawling voice penetrated her fog of despair.

  Swiping at the tears streaming down her face, she shook her head. “I’m fine.”

  Resting his hands on her desk, he leaned closer, gold eyes moving slowly over her face. “You’re a terrible liar, Miss Maldonado.”

  Reaching into a pocket of her skirt, she withdrew a handkerchief and blotted her cheeks. “Please, go away, Mr. Kirkland.”

  Everett sat down on the edge of the desk. “I can’t do that, Teresa.”

  She stared at him, seeing genuine concern in the slanting eyes the color of tortoiseshell. “I’ve received some news—not so good news—and it upset me.”

  “Would you like to go home?”

  Her gaze lingered on the jet-black mustache covering a firm upper lip. Everett Kirkland was elegant—from his neatly barbered hair to the cuffs of his sharply creased slacks.

  “No. I’ll be all right.”

  He stood up. “I’m going to be working late tonight. I’m going out to pick up supper. Would you like me to bring something back for you?”

  Teresa forced a smile. “No, thank you.”

  Everett headed for his office, stopped, then turned and retraced his steps. “Let’s go, Teresa.”

  Surprise siphoned the blood from her face. “What?”

  “Lock up everything.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “I can’t. It’s not quitting time.”

  “Lock up the office, Miss Maldonado. That’s an order.”

  “But—”

  “No buts,” he interrupted, grinning. “We’ll have dinner, and then I’ll drive you home. If your folks are expecting you, then I suggest you call and let them know you’ll be a little late.”

  “I don’t have to call them,” she mumbled angrily. She couldn’t call them because the Maldonados didn’t have a telephone.

  “Suit yourself,” he countered.

  Teresa was certain he could hear her slamming drawers as she locked the desk and closed and locked drawers to the file cabinets. Who did he think he was anyway—the boss?

  Her annoyance fled when she realized Everett Kirkland was her boss whenever Samuel was out of the office. She usually found him even-tempered, soft-spoken and undemanding. However, today was the exception.

  “Where are you going?” Teresa asked Everett when he drove past Amelia’s.

  “To a little place not far from here.”

  “Where?”

  Everett gave her a quick glance before returning his attention to the road. “Relax, Teresa. I’m not abducting you,” he said in Spanish.

  She stared at his profile, shadowed by the brim of his hat. “I thought we were going to Amelia’s.”

  “It’s too crowded on Friday nights.”

  “What’s different about Friday nights?”

  “Music.”

  “They have bands?”

  Everett nodded, downshifting as he maneuvered around a slow-moving farm truck. “Every month they have a different band.”

  “Why aren’t you there with your lady?” Teresa asked him in Spanish. He flashed a rare smile. “You think I’m funny?”

  Everett sobered. “No, Teresa, I don’t think you’re funny. If you want to know if I have a special lady, you can ask me.”

  Lifting her chin in a haughty gesture, she stared out the windshield. “You do not interest me like that.”

  “Why? Is it because I’m not Samuel Cole?”

  Her body stiffened in shock, the shock causing words to wedge in her throat, and if the car hadn’t been moving so fast, or she didn’t fear for the tiny life in her womb, Teresa would’ve opened the door and jumped out. How did he know? Had she been that obvious in her silent adoration, or had Samuel told Everett that he’d slept with her? She took a deep breath, forcing herself to relax. There was no way she could let Everett know how much his query had upset her.

&nb
sp; “Why are you talking about Mr. Cole?”

  “I just want to warn you that he will never leave his wife—not for you, not for any woman.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Why are you saying this to me?”

  “Because I’ve seen the way you look at him, Teresa.”

  “You’re crazy!”

  “No, Teresa, you’re the crazy one, because what you want is never going to happen. You’re young, smart and pretty. You should be going out with boys your age during your free time instead of hanging out at the office mooning over Samuel.”

  “I don’t moon over him!”

  “Stop lying, Teresa!” The three words were cold and lashing.

  Tears filled her eyes for the second time within an hour. “Why are you saying these horrible things to me?”

  Everett’s expression was one of pained tolerance. He liked Teresa, not the way she liked Samuel, and he didn’t want her to ruin her life wishing for something she would never have. There was something about her that reminded him of himself when he’d waited in Puerto Limon for Eladia. A waiting that had become infinite. And as much as he didn’t want to admit it, a small part of him was still waiting for her.

  “I don’t want to see you ruin your life.” His voice was low, softer.

  She flushed, but remained silent. It’s too late for that, she mused.

  “You can let me out here,” Teresa told Everett.

  He’d slowed his car along the dusty road where her parents’ house was one among a dozen rickety structures owned by a heartless, unscrupulous man who thought nothing of evicting entire families if they were three days late paying their monthly rent. It wasn’t unusual to find people standing beside their prized possessions to keep others from stealing them after the owner’s goons emptied the house in preparation for a new tenant.

  Everett’s fingers tightened on the gearshift. “No, Teresa. I’ll drive you directly to your door.”

  With a barely perceptible nod of her head, Teresa stared straight ahead. She’d spent the past two hours with the accountant, and for that brief time she’d forgotten about her predicament. Much to her surprise, she’d found herself more comfortable with Everett than she did with Samuel. He exhibited a wry sense of humor she hadn’t thought possible because he had always appeared so serious; he spoke to her in Spanish, claiming he needed the practice to keep himself fluent.